


Her eyes still watch over us

by MissSanguineOus



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Haytham experiences unwanted Feelings, I may have accidentally gotten into Oliver Bowden's style at some point, and tries to prevent them from doing something dumb, angry ghost ziio, but the idea was good, i suck at summaries, i think, it's actually serious, like trying to kill each other, not sure if that's good, struggles to get her boys crap together
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-31
Updated: 2018-09-02
Packaged: 2018-10-12 15:35:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 48,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10494006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissSanguineOus/pseuds/MissSanguineOus
Summary: Haytham Kenway never believed in ghosts. However he is forced to when one of them pays him a visit, reminding Haytham of his forsaken notion of unity between the Templars and Assassins. Now, not only does the Grand Master has to deal with this silly revolution, but also with the revival of the old affection and having a son- an Assassin.Previously: Shé:kon from the Other Side





	1. 18th December 1780

_It all began two days after the event which was later known as the "Boston Tea Party”. All I can do is say, to whomever it may concern: I assure you that I, Haytham Kenway, was in entirely right mind while writing the following part of my journal (or, at least, so I hope). I've never been gifted with exceedingly luxuriant imagination, nor have I ever suffered from a mental disorder which might have caused the phenomenon I described on the next pages. Having said that, I hope that the following entries may shed some light on different matters and explain some of my actions that might've seemed irrational and surprising especially for those who know me. (But apparently not well enough)_

~~_Connor, if you read_ ~~

_Anyway, it was exactly seven years ago when I either went insane or was saved from insanity._

 

18th December 1773

_i_

I just received a letter from Lee, who has spent the past couple of weeks in Boston with the rest of the Order. We hadn't contacted in a while, therefore I was a little bit surprised- Charles is hardly the person who'd write a letter just to uphold contact and warm relations. True, he's always been the most cordial of my colleagues... or, at least, used to be. The decades as a Templar changed him and despite the fact that I can't complain about his conscientiousness and dedication as a member of our Order, I can't say I felt the need to contact him more often than it was necessary recently. The years left different imprints on him and on me. Especially mine and Holden's expedition to rescue Jenny.  ~~ Well, not so much the expedition itself, but ~~

Concerning the letter, for this is what I wanted to write about: Lee informs me that a very peculiar tea party took place in Boston. Things are heating up there. And not only in Boston. I'm afraid that soon the Templars will have to meet and draw up a plan for the nearest future.

It seems that the individuals behind this event were Mr.’s Paul Revere and Samuel Adams, who also appeared in the reports that Benjamin Church was sending us occasionally (very occasionally). We'll need to have closer look at them and their "sons of Liberty". A Mr. Stephane Chapheau is also mentioned. Another man (whom Benjamin Church described in an extremely proffesional manner as "the redskin savage") was actively taking part in the event as well, however his name or any other data concerning him is unknown.

I feel tired. More tired than ever. The time for the Order to start acting again is near and never before have I been so repelled by the idea of meeting my collegues. Well, not „repelled”. Just not particularly pleased. That doesn't matter, anyway. I can't let my personal disinclinations get in the way of accomplishing our mission.

I sat down to write the response for Charles' letter and establish the date and place of the meeting.

_ii_

We were sitting in a rowdy tavern filled with smoke and scent of alcohol. All six of us.

We’ve already been here once, shortly before Braddock's ambush. It all looked exactly the same as it had that day. We were sitting in the same places, even Hickey was standing exactly where he stood all those years ago. He was in a middle of a loud speech and I instantly realized that I lost track of what he was saying. I quickly focused my attention on his words.

I soon realized that they made absolutely no sense whatsoever. He was talking about tea, which puzzled me. It wasn't why we gathered here. That is, it was, in a way, but it wasn't the tea itself that made us meet. Yet here we were. I looked at my associates. None of them seemed to be bothered by what Hickey was saying. They were all reading some documents that laid in front of them.

I looked down and saw an identical paper in front of me. I started reading it. There it was. Tea again. Every page of the document contained nothing but prohibitions of throwing tea into any water that's not boiling.

Suddenly, I heard _her_ voice.

"Hard at work I see?”

I looked around and saw her. Ziio.

"Haytham, I need to speak with you.” she said, looking me in the eyes.

I didn't reply.

"Haytham” she repeated and suddenly her voice seemed clearer than anything else in the room. „We have to talk. Right now.”

I felt like I was emerging from underwater. The voices hushed and died out, the light in the room dimmed and suddenly the tavern was gone and I was back in the room I rented in New York. My head was resting on a half-finished letter to Charles.

I sat up, rubbing my face in order to revive myself.

"Haytham”

I froze. I didn't know whether or not I was still dreaming. I looked to my right and there she was.

"I didn't think I'd ever see you again, Ziio.” I said quietly

Not that I didn't want to.

She looked just the way she did all those years ago. She didn't change a bit. **** ~~~~

I stood up and approached her.

It was then when I realized that something was not right. She _literally_ didn't change. Ziio looked exactly like she did when I last saw her twenty years ago, no physical changes were to be seen. Not  a single wrinkle on her face or a thinnest streak of gray in her dark hair. 

I frowned. And then raised a hand to touch her arm. I couldn't. All I could feel was thin air. The sensation was similar to placing a hand near a candle, close enough to feel the heat, but not to get burned.

The fact remained: Ziio's arm wasn't where it was supposed to be, which led me to the conclusion that the rest of her wasn't there either.

"Ah” I said, suddenly feeling more certain. „So I'm still asleep.”

That made sense.

"No” she shook her head, smiling wryly.

That didn't.

"So you're really here?”

Somehow that seemed more unbelievable.

"You may call it that.”

We didn't part ways in exactly warm atmosphere. We haven't seen each other for twenty years. I've been through so much and I missed her so much and maybe, just maybe she missed me a little bit as well and yet... here she was, yet again immensely enjoying teasing me.

I felt utterly confused.

"I don't understand.”

I hated to admit that. But, then again, not understanding was quite common a state of my mind when I was around this woman.

Ziio raised a corner of her lips, but the rest of her face remained serious.

"I'm dead, Haytham.” she informed me.

"Pardon me?”

"I died twenty years ago, when my village was burned.”

I opened my mouth then closed it again, not knowing how to respond. The situation was surreal.

Ziio, my Ziio was here. And claiming she has been dead for over two decades.

I started seeking for some reasonable explanation. I was either still asleep (though it didn't feel like a dream, minus Ziio that was... incorporeal) or having hallucinations (though it never happened to me and I could think of no reason whatsoever why it should start now). There was also the third possibility, of course.

But that option was out of, well, option for obvious reasons.

I never believed in ghost stories. If I did, I wouldn't be able to sleep at night, afraid of being haunted by all those who died around me. Or whose death I caused.

"You don't believe me.” Ziio stated, watching me carefully.

"Of course I don't” I confirmed.

She crossed her arms.

"Well, then how are you going to explain it?”

„I...am not sure, but I'm certain that _some_ explanation exists.”

For God's sake, of all the things we could be talking about and of all the things I could say to her... I was trying to convince Ziio that she wasn't here, even though she claimed otherwise.

"Why don't you just take a leap of faith, Haytham?” she suggested.

"And believe that you're... dead and what? A ghost?”

"If that's the word you want to use.”

I snorted silently, then turned around and took a few steps towards the wall, as if hoping it would help me clear my mind.

_Nothing is true,_ a voice echoed in my head. A voice suspiciously similar to my father’s.

_Open your mind, Haytham._

"So, let's say” I turned around „let's say you did in fact come back from the afterlife.”

"I did”

"Let's say” I sighed, looking her in the eyes with a feeling of slight pain in my chest  "Why?”

"There are things you have to know. One thing in particular.”

I took a deep breath.

_Let's say._

"And what is that?” I asked.

She studied me carefully for a couple of seconds.

"You have a son.”

Recalling the situation now, I find it incredibly difficult to make out what was going on inside my head in that moment. It was either a swirling storm of thoughts or a complete void. Or both.

I decided to sit down. The situation called for it. (Not that I actually believed in anything that happened in the past few minutes.)

“Is that true?” I asked (or, at least, so I hope. Now that I think about it, I might have as well muttered something less coherent, due to the shock.)

“Why would I be telling you this if it wasn't true?” Ziio snapped.

“I don't know, I, uh...” I waved my hand in a vague gesture. “I just find that hard to believe.”

“Find it whatever you want, it's the truth.”

I looked at Ziio, still utterly flabbergasted.

“So... I have a son. We have a son. He's ours.”

“Yup. Mine and yours.” a brief smile appeared on her lips.

I stood up, suddenly forgetting that I shouldn't take this whole situation seriously.

“Ziio, had I known...” I paused.

What would I have done?

Come back and help to raise him like a father should? Idyllic though the idea seemed, it would have been impossible. Not with Jenny and the Order and everything. Not to mention the fact that Ziio made it rather clear that my presence was no longer welcomed by her.

But now I couldn't get rid of this vision. Me and Ziio and a child. Together. I could teach him fencing and science and languages and everything I knew... I could try to be as good a father as my own father was to me.

Where would we live? Where would we have lived, I corrected myself. In Boston? In Ziio's village? Maybe London, although it was the colonies where I felt most at home now (not to mention the Order being here demanded my presence) and Ziio probably wouldn't be so keen on the idea of leaving it either.

She must have guessed what I was thinking about, because, for a second, sudden warmth appeared in her eyes, as if she too was pleased by the vision of what might have been. I cleared my throat, trying to come back to reality.

“What is... what's his name?” I asked in a hoarse voice.

“Ratonhnhaké:ton.”

Of course. I had a son, whose name I couldn't even pronounce correctly.

“But your people know him as Connor” Ziio shrugged “You colonists have amazingly stiff tongues.”

“Yes, well, sorry about that.” I said, smiling.

Connor. Good name. Strong one.

“Did you pick it? 'Connor'”?

Ziio stiffened.

“No”

My first thought, irrational and silly, but first, nevertheless, was that some man, who may have been more of a father to my son than I could ever be chose it.  _Maybe he adopted him?_ I thought at that moment.  _Maybe he took care of... them both._

I had no right whatsoever to feel anger (jealousy was more justified), yet, when I spoke, it was clear in my voice:

“Then who did?”

Maybe it wasn't anger. Maybe just pain. Guilt.

“That's what I wanted to talk to you about” Ziio replied slowly, as if she was carefully choosing her words.

I said nothing.

“After I died...” Ziio continued. “years later the spirits spoke to Ratonhnhaké:ton. They sent him to a man who would teach him.”

“Teach him what? Who was that man?” I inquired, having a very bad and, as it later turned out, very accurate feeling about this.

Ziio stared at me for a while, then said:

“His name is Achilles Davenport. Ratonhnhaké:ton was trained as an assassin.”

For some time- seconds, maybe hours- all thoughts vanished from my head and all I could hear was the pounding of my heart.

_Assassin._

The word echoed in my brain in terrible symphony with the rumbling of blood in my veins.

So the family legacy skipped a generation, but didn't forget about the Kenway family after all. How impressive. Apparently, one just can't get rid of what's in his blood. Even I didn't. Not entirely, anyway. But did it matter? Certainly not for my son. Not only does he believe that his father abandoned him and his mother, but also he is convinced that I am his worst enemy. Oh, the humanity.

And am I?

Technically- yes.

Not technically... what does it matter? Achilles Davenport (this looks more and more like a Greek tragedy, considering the fact that he wouldn't be that much of a nuisance had I not spared his life) probably isn't fully aware of my family's history and this rather unusual career path of mine. He presumably wouldn't care, anyway.

Of course, I could still try to convince myself that I was experiencing hallucinations, or an odd dream after a tiring day, but, somehow, with every next surprising revelation I found myself more and more certain that what I witnessed and heard is true. Painful though it was.

“He wants me dead, doesn't he?” it was more of a statement than question. “He has to kill me.”

“That's true” Ziio nodded “But that's not what he _wants_. Not really. Not yet. There's still time to convince him otherwise.”

I frowned.

“What do you mean? And, hold on, how does he even know I'm his father?”

Ziio looked at the ceiling.

“Well, I may or may not mentioned... us... in my journal. Which he read. Not with my permission.”

“Oh”

I had no idea how much detail of our relationship Ziio “mentioned” (hopefully, even less than I did), but I was quite sure that this wasn't the means I'd choose to inform my son about his father.

Maybe it was for the best. If he hadn't read it, he wouldn't have learned about me, which would make our present situation even more awkward.

Ziio continued:

“He knows he has to kill the Grand Master of the Templars, yes. But what he wants is to know the man behind the title. His father. He never had one.”

I shook my head.

“Ziio, that's not how it works. Assassins and Templars don't go well with each other. Every encounter must end in death” I recalled my father's “friendship” with Birch “Never mind the family bonds or any other circumstances. This cannot end well. We have our creeds and history of centuries of war. They both blind us and... it's just impossible.”

“But you see it” Ziio pointed out, looking me in the eyes. “You see what Templars and Assassins could do if they'd work together.”

I let out a short, grave laugh. She sounded like me when I was younger. When I had my ideals and dreams of combining Assassins' and Templars' points of view. Of unity between the two brotherhoods.

But that was a long time ago.

“It's hopeless, Ziio. It can't be done.” I surmised bitterly.

And suddenly, she was just a few inches from me, fury in her eyes and a faint, reddish glow around her.

“What happened to you?” she hissed “You can help him, help your stupid colonies and your bloody _Order_ and you just say 'It's hopeless'?!”

“As I said...”

“He's your son, _does this mean nothing to you_?!”

I blinked and stared at her.

Ziio just stood there, glaring furiously. I realized that I saw her this angry only once before, during our last argument, right before I left.

And now I have the chance to make up for it. For everything. ~~I can~~ Maybe I could unite the two Orders. I gave up this riddiculous notion a long time ago, but now things are changing. The colonies are on the verge of revolution, possibly war. If freedom and order worked together, we could create something completely new... It wouldn't be easy and may take a lot of time...but perhaps Connor and I could cooperate and form an alliance. The chances that it will last, let alone spread amongst the Templars and Assassins are faint, however...  I had to give it a try.

I wasn't only the Grand Master of Templar's Order Colonial Rite.

Whether I liked it or not, I had Assassins' heritage.

And now, a son.

 

 


	2. 12th January 1774

_i_

 

In a couple of minutes I'll have to depart for the Order's meeting, first in fifteen years. I can't say that I'm particularly pleased with this prospect, but we ought to make some decisions and consider the future of the Colonial Rite. Changes are coming. For the Templars and for the country. And for me.

I haven't seen Ziio since she first visited me. I began to think (hope?) that what happened that night wasn't real after all.

My common sense has been fighting with my instinct for the past few days. The first kept saying that such things do not happen. There are no ghosts. The dead do not drop by in the world of the living to have a chat. And, although all the information Ziio gave me was highly precise and even possible, I suppose it could be just a trick of my subconscious, which fused my hidden fears ~~and hopes~~ into the vision I witnessed.

Nonetheless, my instinct kept insisting on believing. Or, at least, allowing such possibility. Opening my mind and accepting the unexplainable. How Assassin of me. Father would be proud.

Yet, how simpler life would get if I could just deny what I learned or forget it.

It took me some time to process the information, but now that I finally accepted the fact of having a son, initial astonishment turned into misgiving.

I felt apprehension, because, yet again, I was going to fail Ziio and lose her and probably made her hate me even more. Due to the fact that, at the end of the day, I'll probably have to kill my son. I was supposed to kill the only living part of Ziio on this world.

When Holden died, the last person I cared about was gone. First my parents, Ziio... Saying that each loss and the pain it caused made me stronger would be a disgusting lie. But with every one of them some small part of me still capable of feeling human emotions died, leaving me more and more empty and cold, but also- less vulnerable. There were simply less and less things that could hurt me.

And now another one appeared. In a way.

I can't say that I suddenly loved my son. But I couldn't just turn my back on the fact of his existence.

I have to admit: from all the cruel tricks and pranks fate and destiny have played on me (my friendship with Birch included) this one was by far the most impressive. To give me a child, but put him on the opposite side of the barricade. Spectacular.

I know that I should be indifferent to that fact. I should care about Connor as much as I care for Jenny – that is not particularly. Maybe even less, since I spent my whole childhood with my half-sister and then a big part of my adult life searching for her. But, despite that, we are just two virtually unfamiliar people, whose painful past is all they have in common. Not really a foundation on which our family bond could flourish.

Nevertheless, I knew Jenny. I spent time with her, I've kept in touch with her since we parted, which is more than can be said for Connor, who I've never met, let alone got to know.

Yet, here I was, thinking about him whenever I could, wondering what is he like and what would he do if he met me. Did he even want to? Would he be willing to talk to me? Or listen to me? Or would he want to make our meeting as short and lethal as possible?

I shook my head. I shouldn't think like that. Despite Ziio's arguments, he was still an assassin, thus dangerous. I have to focus on the Order. All feelings and hypothesizing must be set aside.

 

_ii_

 

We met in a rented room in a tavern on the outskirts of Boston. Everyone came. I have no idea how they felt about our reunion, all I know is that I was far from being glad, while meeting my old “friends”. Once upon a time, I really could refer to them as such, without a bitter grimace on my face. Not anymore. Now, we were merely associates.

They must have sensed the rather cold atmosphere of the meeting, for none of them wasted time on cordial greetings and friendly catching-up. The matters that concerned the Order were brought up as soon as everyone sat.

Charles let us know that the rebels forming an army was on the cards, and should they do so, chances are that he, Charles, will become its commander-in-chief. He dismissed the possibility of the other candidate’s- George Washington’s- victory.

“That'd be very fortunate for the Order, Charles. And for you.” I nodded in approval.

A sudden thought occurred to me.

“Speaking of Washington” I said “I heard some rumors that he was quite a nuisance to our Mohawk acquaintances during the war. I'm talking about the civilians. Woman, children. The villages.”

Everyone nodded hesitantly.

“Why am I getting the feeling that there's something you're not telling me?” I asked, hoping that the rhetorical question will meet with some response.

The men were silent for a couple of seconds.

“It's about that Indian woman of yours.” Charles said finally.

I raised my eyebrows, feeling that my heart started to beat slightly faster. So it could be true. I raised my eyebrows, pretending not to understand.

“What about her?”

“It was Washington's men. We came near the sav-... the Indian village, we wanted to talk to their Elders about the Temple, but they wouldn't see us. Then Washington’s soldiers came. They burned everything to the ground. There was nothing we could do. I'm sorry, Haytham.”

I realized that I was holding my breath during Charles' talking. I breathed out and asked:

“She's dead?”

Lee nodded.

So it was true. The element of surprise was taken away from this revelation, but that didn't make it any easier to accept. Something inside me twitched painfully. Something I thought was dead for years now.

First this regrettable curiosity about Connor. Then this hurtful grief about the woman whom I couldn't erase from my memories, even if I tried. Either I was getting old and ~~weak~~ sentimental or these two were bringing to life those parts of me that were supposed to be already crushed to ashes and no longer bothering me. But they were bothering me. That meant trouble.

I noticed that everyone was staring at me. Good, gracious God, did they expect me to burst into tears in front of them? Did they think me this frail?

“Well, one more reason to wish good luck to you, Charles, and hope that Washington won’t succeed” I said and then muttered quietly: “also maybe die in a horrible way.”

Finally, the subject of events that took place in Boston was brought up. We all agreed that it was a signal that colonists’ tolerance of the Crown's reign was running thin. Letters containing information about what happened should soon reach the British government, so their response ought to arrive in the next few months. Chances are it will be an armed response.

Ben Church shared all his data about Samuel Adams and other “guests” of the “tea party”. However, there was one man, of whom Church knew surprisingly little.

“He's Mohawk, I think. Native, anyway” Church said. “He is close with Adams and Revere, almost as if he was one of the leaders too. I've no idea where he came from.”

There was hesitation in his voice.

“You don't?” I raised my eyebrows.

“Well... it's probably nothing, but he wore this necklace...”

“Describe it” I commanded.

Benjamin gave us the description of the necklace. A description that fitted the necklace that Ziio used to wear too precisely to doubt that it must have been the same exact thing. I couldn't dismiss it as a coincidence. Not after what happened in December.

I felt the need to laugh hysterically, not being able to believe that I hadn't figured it out sooner. First, Charles and Church mention an Indian man cooperating with Sons of Liberty and partaking in the Tea Party. Immediately after that, Ziio appears and briefs me on our son's existence. Sounds too convenient to be a coincidence.

The Tea Party was quite a nuisance to the Order, even if only from a financial point of view. Of course the Assassins had a hand in it. Of course _Connor_ was there.

“I saw it once before” Benjamin's voice interrupted my thoughts and forced me to focus back on his explanations. “About five years ago we met an Indian boy in a tavern on the Frontier. He was wearing an identical necklace, I'm almost sure of it. And he asked us about Charles.”

That was a surprise. I should probably start getting used to them.

“Interesting” I murmured. “Do you have any idea, Charles, what some Mohawk boy would want with you?”

Lee didn't respond.

Even more interesting.

“Charles?” I urged.

He cleared his throat.

“Well... on the day we went to see the Elders and talk to them about the Temple, we met a boy. We asked him for directions, but he didn't want to collaborate. I may have treated him a bit... harshly.”

_Harshly_ . I gritted my teeth. If “harshly” was the world Lee would use to describe the way he treats those who were weaker than him, or who he simply considered _worse_ than him, then the boy was lucky if got out with only a couple of bruises.

Some strange anger boiled in me. All those years ago, when I fought side by side with Charles and when I recruited him to the Templars, not once did I think that his passion, loyalty and maybe slight, harmless haughtiness would turn him into a person who tortures innocent children. And for what? Not for information. If it was the only thing Charles wanted to gain, there were simpler ways to get it. Asking nicely being one of them.

No, Lee enjoyed the feeling of being in charge. Of being more powerful than his opponent. But to enjoy it is one thing and to abuse it is another. And I fear that the latter may begin to happen more and more often. And I can't do anything about it, as long as it doesn't affect Charles' work as a member of the Order. And one day, it might.

A fact remains that, yet again, I experienced a mixture of emotions: anger, pity, sympathy I shouldn't experience, especially since they concerned a child I've never met.

Maybe that's what being a father meant? Pity mine is no longer here to answer my questions.

“Haytham” Charles continued his speech “the boy threatened me.”

I managed not to smirk. That would be highly unprofessional of me.

“Oh, and one more thing” Benjamin said, before I could respond to Lee. “He... the Mohawk man in Boston... he was wearing Assassin's robes, Haytham. If the boy we’re speaking of is the same man …”

I nodded.

At this point, Benjamin's last statement was hardly a surprise.

“Then he has more than one reason to hate us” I glanced at Lee.

 

_iii_

 

When everyone left, either to go home or to spend the night in the rooms they rented, I stayed by the table, trying to digest everything I learned in the past few hours.

First of all, I learned that the Assassins (all two of them) were likely going to use the commotion in Boston to get the Brotherhood up and going again. Apparently, citizens of Boston ran out of things to lose and were willing to go for all the marbles. For everything they could gain from limiting (ending?) British reign in the colonies. If things keep going in that direction, then who knows... we may even be on the verge of a serious revolution. Especially seeing that the rebels were thinking of creating an _army_. And when there was revolution and all this nonsense about liberty, there were Assassins. No, Connor probably won't sit back and do nothing. He is going to cause us a lot of trouble. And probably won't even spare a moment to listen to the voice of reason. To listen to me, let alone consider that we, the vile Templars may actually have a point and the well-being of this country in mind.

I sighed. I can't believe I've ever allowed myself to think that I may change his mind. Well, we all have moments of weakness. I just hope that mine has passed for good.

 

_iv_

 

 

So much for giving up on Connor.

I came back to my room about half an hour after the meeting has ended. No sooner had I closed the door behind me, when I heard her voice:

“You believe now?”

Luckily, I didn't jump, or anything of the kind. Living Ziio would get a lot of satisfaction if she managed to frighten me and I doubt if that changed much after she died.

“Yes, Ziio” I turned around, trying to ignore a slightly faster heart rate when I saw her face. “I am forced to admit that you were telling the truth.”

“About?”

“Everything”

“Good” she slid off the drawer she'd been previously sitting on (provided that ghosts can actually sit on things) “Then what are you going to do now?”

“Oh I don't know” I replied ironically, taking off my hat and laying it on the table. “Maybe I'll send a letter the leader of the Assassins, who may have as well taken part in igniting a damn revolution and invite him for the tea, provided there's any left after he threw it in the harbor. 'Dear Connor, would you like to come and have a talk about the new world order? Looking forward to seeing you, your Father, the Templar.' We shall have a magnificent time.”

That sounded hysterical.

“What, did you expect it to be easy?” Ziio asked coldly.

“I expected it to be... possible!” I took a deep breath, calming myself “As a matter of fact, I expected nothing. I said it's hopeless. And it is.”

“You think it's an accident that you, the Grand Master of the Templars and Ratonhnhaké:ton, the Assassin are tied with the closest of bonds? That you're his _father_?!”

I didn't respond. The obvious answer would be: _“Of course it's an accident, they happen all the time”._ But I've lived long enough to accept, or, at least, consider the possibility, that _accidents_ don't just happen _accidentally_. There are thing bigger than us. I spent half of my life looking for them. Half-heartedly, but still.

It seemed a tad ironic that they were the reason that brought me to America, that caused mine and Ziio's paths to cross and that eventually made Connor... happen. And now they led him on to his path. Path of an Assassin.

Doesn't that disprove of the theory in which they want the Templars and the Assassins to cooperate? Doesn't this mean that they just want to make up for the lost Kenway?

But if they'd wanted our family to stick to the Assassin's lineage why haven't they tried to turn me from the path of a Templar?

“ _Because they don't exist_ ” said a quiet, sarcastic voice inside my head.

“ _Because that's how things should be._ ” said another.

On the other hand I did recently destroy a big part of the Assassin's Brotherhood in the colonies. The celestial beings might have changed their minds about me. I cannot blame them. I changed.

Maybe Connor was indeed supposed to get rid of me? Forget that “maybe”, he _was_ supposed to get rid of me. He has been prepared for that since he was practically a child. By now, he won't even hesitate. I was the biggest obstacle in Assassins' way to regain their power in the colonies. It was nothing personal. It couldn't be.

_And it won't be for me, either,_ I thought at that moment. _This isn't about me. It was about the Order. If we want to achieve our goal, sacrifices must be made._

“I'm sorry, Ziio. That was a good plan while it lasted” I said to her, breaking the silence. “I can see now that it was nothing more than a hopeless folly. I will not risk the Order's future and everything we've been building for years just to unite with my son. I am convinced that he feels the same way about me. We have our duties.”

I felt shame and distaste to myself for throwing away ~~our~~ my shot. Also due to the fact that I was going to let Ziio down yet again. All the things she considered me to be when we parted turned out to be true. Maybe I was a coward? Maybe I was afraid that getting into any closer relations with my son will distract me from what I should be focused on?

I turned around and headed for the door, suddenly feeling the need to get outside and hoping that Ziio won't follow me. Maybe she'll disappear. Along with the guilt, the longing for...her, the doubts. I guess I hoped that with her gone everything that happened will somehow miraculously become undone. That the curiosity about Connor ~~the inclination to meet him~~ will disappear as well.

I was stopped by Ziio's voice, filled with cold fury:

“You still owe me for Braddock”

I froze with one hand on the door knob.

“You lied to me about him and you didn't tell me the truth about your true aim. You betrayed my trust, after I betrayed my people to help you. Is that what your duties are? Are you going to build your order on lies and treason?”

She flowed through the air and stood between me and the door.

“You can pay that debt. You can make everything right. Ratonhnhaké:ton and you are meant to fight side by side. He's your son, Haytham. You can't just give up on him.”

I was silent for a while. She was right, of course. At least about Braddock.

“Of all the things I've done in my life” I said quietly “There's nothing I regret more than lying to you.”

“You should” Ziio nodded, not a hint of sympathy on her face.

I took a deep breath.

“He won't listen to me.” I muttered.

“Try him” the ghost shrugged. “And this time do not lie.”

I looked her in the eyes for a while. Her gaze was calm and resolved.

“Fine” I said eventually. “But that won't end well.”

“Depends on you” she replied.

Indeed. The fate and future of the Order and the Brotherhood may depend on how I play this part.

“What would you have me do?” I asked.

“For now, wait” Ziio said in that authoritative tone I remembered so well it almost made me smile. “I'll tell you when Ratonhnhaké:ton will decide to reveal himself. Then you decide what to do.”

I nodded in agreement.

“Alright, so be it.”

So be it, then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was brought to you by Dean Winchester.
> 
> I'll try to upload the next one during the Easter break.


	3. 6th July 1774

 

_i_

 

Waiting was unnerving. I used to think that impatience was the peculiarity of the young and that I grew out of it a long time ago. But now it was back and stronger than before.

Not knowing what my son was up to and, more importantly, not knowing how to prevent it was making me uneasy. His apparent inactivity was suspicious, considering the fact that the Assassins weren't usually the ones to sit with their arms crossed, especially not when their target was being so visible and prevailing .

Since the meeting I was trying to figure out what made Connor participate in the Tea Party. Initially, I assumed that it was either because he decided to support the Sons of Liberty every step of the way (”liberty” being the key word here). I guessed that he intended to take part in any action against the “oppressive” government. However, now it seems highly probable to me that his actions may have been aimed more against the Order, rather than against the Crown. Or maybe we were virtually the same thing from his point of view. Well, enemy is enemy.

Furthermore, maybe it wasn't _the Order_ in general that triggered Connor's actions. The expected income from the sale of the tea was supposed to serve a very concrete purpose: the purchase of the Natives' land, currently supervised by William Johnson. And, frankly speaking, I can't say we were bending over backwards to conceal our actions. So it was quite possibly the desire to protect his tribe, not to support the rebels which resulted in Connor's partaking in the Tea Party.

This was not too propitious. The Mohawks were quite possessive when it came to their land (and cannot be blamed for it, truly) and the prospect of selling it wasn't much to their appeal (no matter how reasonable our arguments or how convenient the conditions of the trade were)

However, I can also see the silver lining: provided that Connor's actions and cooperation with the rebels is caused only by the inclination to protect his people, then our objectives may not be as divergent as one could think.

Especially seeing that William Johnson, on behalf of the Order, was doing his best to help the Natives. If only Connor was sensible enough to see it...

 

_ii_

  
  


Connor is not sensible enough to see it.

Soon after dinner, I received another visit from Ziio. I don't deny, I was wondering when would I see her again. I think I was even looking forward to it, despite her reluctant attitude towards me.

“I hope this wasn't your idea” she said angrily, with her arms crossed.

“Nice to see you too” I responded. “What idea?”

“Your man is stealing our land!”

“Purchasing it” I corrected her.

“Same difference”

“Look, we're only trying to protect your people and their land from the fight.”

“Yeah, right” Ziio squinted her eyes. “You're being greedy. You and your men want to take more and more of what doesn't belong to you and drive us away from the places we've lived in and protected for thousands of years! You're as bad as the colonists.”

“If we have your land, we'll be able to protect it from the conflict” I argued “We've no interest in the land itself or any goods it may provide”

“How generous of you” Ziio mocked “If you want to protect my people then give them weapons, or, better yet, leave us alone!”

It didn't escape my attention that she kept switching from “us” to “they”, as if she partly felt like she belonged in this world and partly in the other one.

“When the war comes – if it comes- it won't leave you alone. You should know that better that anyone else.”

Ziio didn't reply, still glaring at me.

“Ziio, we want to prevent conflict” I said mildly “If we succeed, your people will be safe.”

“For how long?” she asked listlessly “Eventually either you or the colonists will want more. Your country will begin the expansion and my people will be powerless to stop it.”

“Not if we can establish an agreement with your people. Not if we manage to gain control over the colonies. We could prevent that from happening” I said heatedly. _If only I could make her see what the Templars could do if they prevailed. If only I could make Connor see that as well_.

She gazed at me for a couple of seconds with an inscrutable expression. I prayed she'd believe me. Finally Ziio's stare relented and she sighed quietly.

“I'm no fool, Haytham. No one can control human greediness. No one has that much power.”

“We’ll see about that. I don’t deny, it does sound like a formidable challenge” I admitted, “Nonetheless, right now I can only assure you that hurting your people is the last thing that the Order wants to do.”

I took a step towards Ziio, feeling an urgent need to touch her. Take her hand. Embrace her. Show her that I actually care. That I always have.

Well, now it was too late for that.

“You'll have to prove it to Ratonhnhaké:ton” Ziio said quietly.

“That would make our situation much less complicated, yes” I agreed.

“No, you don't understand. There's something I haven't told you yet about the day I died.”

I moaned soundlessly, preparing myself for yet another revelation.

“You know that your men...the Boiling Water and the others, came to our land to ask questions about the Temple.”

I nodded, guessing that “Boiling Water” probably referred to Charles. Quite accurate, actually.

“You know that it was on the same day that Washington's soldiers came” Ziio continued.

I nodded once more, clenching my jaw at the mention of Washington's cruelty.

“Ratonhnhaké:ton wasn't there when it happened. He left the village and he met your man, who...”

“I know” I interrupted her “I'm sorry, Ziio, if I was there, I would have prevented it.”

“I hope so” she said coldly. “When he returned to our village, it was already on fire and your men were nowhere to be seen. You can probably guess what Ratonhnhaké:ton assumed.”

I frowned and a couple of seconds later I felt the dawning feeling of horror fill my mind.

He must have blamed the cruel intruders he'd met for destroying his home. Of course. How could he not? That meant began to blame the Order, as soon as he found out who they were. For all this time, he didn't forget. And now it wasn't only about the revolution or the Assassins' mission. It was about revenge.

And there was another thing.

“That means he is convinced that they did it on my behalf” I said dully “By my order. And that you died… because of me.”

Ziio nodded grimly.

“Oh, that's splendid” I snorted, sitting heavily on the chair “That's fantastic. Marvelous!”

Every time I allowed a spark of hope to light inside my mind some new obstacle put it out. Every time I started believing that maybe this hopeless idea of unity may actually succeed, I learned of yet another thing, which made it less and less likely. Yet me, old fool, still clinged to that silly hope. And why? What for? A couple of months ago I would have laughed at the very idea of trying to get along with an Assassin- son or no son. Maybe I was right. I probably was right.

“You said he wanted to know me first” I murmured “That he didn't want to kill me straight away”

“That's true”

“Well, then what kind of son is he?” I exclaimed “If I were in his place... damn, I was in his place and I can tell you that there is nothing an orphaned child wants more than to retaliate on those who'd destroyed their family. In this case - me.”

“You _are_ his family! And he doesn't know the truth!” Ziio responded heatedly “You have to tell him!”

“He won't believe me”

“You have to try! Or find a way to prove it” she stepped closer to me “Haytham, I do not want our son to live in conviction that his mother's blood is on his father's hands”

“Neither do I” I muttered.

Somehow, proving to Connor that I am not to be blamed for the death of the woman that was dear to us both became even more important than showing my son the righteousness of the Order's cause.

There they were again. Those selfish desires a Grand Master should be free from. Or, at least, into which a Grand Master cannot give into. Yet, here I am. Regardless of what Connor thinks about the Order I wanted him to know the truth about me. Or, at least, this small part of it that concerned him. If he was supposed to hate me, fine. But let it be for something I actually can be blamed for.

Ziio's next words made me jerk my head up:

“He's going to kill William Johnson”

“What?!” I asked sharply

“To stop him from stealing our land”

Of course. Of course he wouldn't even  _try_ to talk to him.

“When?”

“As soon as he gets to him. Probably in a couple of days” Ziio answered calmly. “If you want to explain everything to Ratonhnhaké:ton... and save your man, this is your chance. But you must hurry.”

I nodded and promptly began all necessary preparations for my depart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty, the talking part is mostly done, now we can get down to some actual blood-spilling and thing-doing.


	4. 11th July 1774

_i_

 

And what an eventful a day it was. Not only did I encounter my son, but also lost one of my best men, thanks to the former. But first things first.

Because of the information received from Ziio, I left my estate about three hours later, having previously sent a messenger with an urgent letter to William Johnson, informing him that I would pay a visit to his household in the Frontier.

I headed to Boston first to spend the night there after a three-day journey. I assumed that would give my friend enough time to receive the letter and make any necessary preparations. I also hoped it would prevent my arrival from looking suspiciously hurried.

Having arrived at Johnson's home, I learned that I wasn't the only expected visitor, since in two or three days time the representatives sent by the Union of Five Nations were to arrive in order to (yet again) resume the negotiations regarding their land.

For some time I considered whether I should tell Johnson that he became the next target for the   
Assassin or not. It seemed to be the right thing to do, however I was convinced that it wouldn't be enough to save his life. He can't have his soldiers guard him every second of the day for who knows how long. No, after he's been marked as the target, his fate was sealed. Unless, of course, I could outrun Connor and talk some sense into him. Moreover, warning Johnson would mean revealing that I had more information than I should and that would arouse unwanted questions. I didn’t want to draw my colleagues’ attention to the currently belittled actions of the Assassin. Or let them know that I was paying more attention to him than seemed reasonable, for that matter.

Therefore I decided not to acquaint my fellow associate with the real reason I paid him a visit and stick to the version in which I was here simply to oversee the meeting with the Natives.

I only hoped Ziio was right.

 

_ii_

 

The Indian representatives came to us three days later and so the negotiations were resumed. The Iroquois men weren't very cooperative (which was frustrating, but not unexpected) and after a couple of hours William finally began to slowly run out of patience.

I stood in the shade of the small porch, leaning against the doorframe and carefully scanning the surroundings. The nearest area was patrolled by Johnson's men, but I had no doubt that Connor would find a way to the sneak past them. Forrest was his element, as it was Ziio's. We were merely intruders.

The meeting was quickly getting less and less calm. Both William and the envoys were speaking in raised voices. Johnson walked up to one of the Indians, reaching for his pistol, clearly out of patience. I was about to join the “debate”, worried that things were on the verge of taking a very unpleasant turn.

And a couple of seconds later they did, although not in the way I expected them to.

The death came from above.

One second William Johnson was screaming in the Indian's face and the next one he was laying on the ground, with blood all around his throat and an Assassin standing above him.

“Connor!” I called, but he must have not heard me, for in the same exact second the fighting broke out. The soldiers threw themselves at the Natives, apparently assuming that it was them who organized the attack.

I made my way between the fighting, but by the time I reached William's body, he was already dead and Connor gone. I quickly looked around, searching for my son. I spotted him about fifty feet ahead of me, running towards the forest. Not giving it much thought, I darted after him.

“Connor!” I shouted once more. I managed to lessen the distance between us a little bit.

Without stopping, the Assassin pulled out his gun and shot, turning around only for a split second. I threw myself to the side and at the same moment I heard the loud bang of the pistol.

I hid behind the nearest tree. Knowing that I had a few seconds of safety before Connor reloads, I glanced in his direction, but all I could see was his white-robed figure disappearing between the trees.

“Till we meet again, son” I muttered, frowning.

I stayed behind my cover for a few minutes, observing the place where I last saw Connor, just in case he was going to come back. He didn't. Why?

Why did he run away? Was he afraid of going toe-to-toe with an old man? That didn't seem right. Assassins may “work in the dark” and so on, but they're hardly cowards. For the most part. True, they usually prefer quick and quiet methods of dealing with the enemy and avoiding the mess of the open combat. Nevertheless, right now was a perfect opportunity.

After a couple of minutes, when I was sure that my son wasn't going to return, I headed back to the house.

If it wasn't fear that made Connor depart so fast, then what? Perhaps he wanted to wait for a better occasion. Being a coward is one thing, picking one's battles is another. He may hate me, he may despise me, but he probably is aware of the fact that a fair fight with me wouldn't be an easy one to win. He probably preferred to deal with me the same way he did with Johnson. Although, come to think of it, he may have not even known it  _was_ me. He saw me maybe once in his life and it was a few years back too. Now, he may have actually fired without even getting a good look at who he was firing at…

I emerged from between the trees. The Iroquois men were gone. The living ones, anyway. The dead laid on the ground, together with a few of Johnson's soldiers.

“See to it that they're properly buried” I ordered the rest of Johnson's men “All of them”

“Yes, sir”

I went inside the house, assuming that my presence was no longer needed outside. I walked upstairs, to the guest room I currently occupied and began packing the few things I took out of my bag after my arrival. It didn't take long, since I hadn't actually bothered to make myself at home here.

“You don't seem perturbed by Johnson's death.”

I flinched.

“Please, do not appear behind my back” I said, turning around to face Ziio. “You have the unfair advantage of not being able to make a sound.”

“And I'm not letting go of it” she retorted.

I snorted. It almost felt like the good old days. For a second.

I returned my attention to my bag and its contents.

“Oh, I am perturbed” I said in response to her earlier statement “And quite angry at Connor”

“For killing your friend?”

“He’s not my friend. No, for ruining the chance to help his people. Something we'd been working on for quite a while” I sighed in frustration “And the negotiations weren't going too great even without his help. Now, it's all lost, thanks to our son. So, yes, I am _perturbed_.”

“They were no negotiations. They were conditions that you wanted us to accept”

“Those were good conditions”

“But still conditions” Ziio shook her head “My people and your man didn't stand on equal grounds. And my people had enough of your _conditions_.”

“It doesn't matter now, anyway” I said grimly “Johnson is dead and your people are gone, as is Connor”

Ziio was quiet for a couple of seconds, then said:

“Don't blame him”

I frowned.

“For what? For ruining everything?”

“And for shooting at you”

I shrugged, dismissing this display of aversion from my son.

“I should have seen this coming, I suppose. I wasn't surprised. I just wonder why he escaped.”

“Have you considered” Ziio began cautiously “That he didn't want to confront you, because he's having... second thoughts?”

“About?”

“Killing you”

“Oh”

That didn't occur to me. How could it?

“No, I haven't” I said.

“Well maybe you should.'

Tempting. But risky.

“I'd rather not be that optimistic. What reason would he have to... _not_ want me dead? As far as I can tell, all our contact until today was me ordering to get rid of him during the riots in Boston, years ago.”

Because I've recalled this event and I rememberd that, altough I didn't manage to get a really good look at him then, the boy definitely didn't look like one of the Bostonians and afterwards the town criers, spreading the news about the wanted man, described him as dark skinned and wearing Indian garments. I couldn't be certain that it was Connor, but, since there weren't exactly many Native boys running around and killing people in Boston, I assumed it must've been him.

Ziio rolled her eyes.

“Yes, that isn't the best start, but... there are other things.”

“Like what?”

She looked at me carefully.

“You know. You felt it too. The day I told you about Ratonhnhaké:ton you felt something for the child you had never met.”

I shrugged. Even if it was true, I wasn't going to admit it.

“Did that change after I told you he's an Assassin?” Ziio asked.

I hesitated. Did it? I should say “yes”. But I knew that it wouldn't be entirely true. I’m not sure what my feelings towards Connor were. Maybe just because he was the last remaining  _living_ part of Ziio on this world or maybe for some other reason, the fact remained that I felt some sort of need to keep my son alive for as long as possible. Meet him. Talk to him. Give him a chance.

“Maybe” I answered cautiously.

“He had years to think about you. To grow fond of you, even though he never saw your face. All Ratonhnhaké:ton had was a name.” Ziio paused for a second “The name of his father – the only family he had left. Assassin or not, do you think he'd be very eager to get rid of that person?”

“You ignore the fact that he also had years to burn out all, like you say, fondness. Thanks to our friend, Mr. Davenport, from Connor's point of view I am the most vile person in America. And don't forget that he wants to avenge you. So I'd say he had the time to get used to the idea of killing me.”

Ziio's lips tightened.

“I made you a promise” I said quickly, before she got angry with me again “And I intend to fulfill it. I will talk to him, whether he wants it or not.”

At that second, one of the soldiers called me from the outside. I headed for the door, but then stopped and looked at Ziio.

“I'll see you later?” that was more of a question then statement.

(For God's sake am I actually attempting to repair my relationship with a dead woman? Foolish. Pathetic)

“You will” she said, without a hint of a smile.

(As I said, pathetic)

 

_iii_

 

And now, I'm back in Boston. I left later that day, letting Johnson's friends to deal with the funeral. I was standing in front of the window in a room I rented, when Ziio came again, though this time she didn't manage to startle me.

“Do you know where he is now?” I asked without turning, feeling slight heat coming from behind my back.

Judging by the moment of silence, this time I managed to surprise her. I felt slight satisfaction at this little victory.

“Why do you want to know?” Ziio replied finally.

I turned around.

“I've been thinking about creating us some opportunity to talk in peace”

“And?”

“Well” I shrugged “My first thought was an ambush. But that would be difficult to pull off without my colleagues finding out and I doubt they'd give him a warm welcome. Plus, this really wouldn't be the best start for negotiations.”

“You think?”

“I do, indeed” I nodded “So?”

“So what?”

“Do you know where he is at the moment?”

Ziio studied me carefully for a while. Slight feeling of  _déjà vu_ struck me, as I recalled her giving me that judging look, when I found her in the forest near Lexington, after freeing the captives from Silas' camp.

“Even if I do, I will not tell you” she finally announced.

“You don't trust me.”

Ziio hesitated, but nodded. That wasn’t pleasant, but I couldn’t blame her for that.

“Yet you remain” I pointed out.

“I don't trust you _enough_ to give you the advantage of knowing Ratonhnhaké:ton whereabouts. If you captured him, but didn't manage to convince him to peace, he'd be at the mercy of you and your Order. You wouldn’t hesitate to get rid of him then.”

“Fair point” I admitted, frowning “I guess that's what I _should_ do. But right now, I don't think I'd have the guts to kill him in any other way then a fair fight.”

Though I hope it won’t come to that until I can actually explain everything to Connor. Who knows… maybe we won’t even have to fight. Improbable possibility, but still a possibility.


	5. 16th June 1775

_i_

 

News of the events that occurred in the towns of Lexington and Concord at night between 18 th  and 19  th  of April reached me long after the “battles” ended. It's no wonder, seeing that the whole thing lasted no more than an hour and the ride from Massachusetts to Virginia, where I currently reside, takes approximately five days.

However, said news proved clearly thet the nearest area of Boston was currently the centre of the events, which was foreseeable, seeing as that's where everything started. For now, after the first shots were fired, it became obvious to most people that the conflict was on a verge of changing from a dissatisfied rabble disrespecting the king and his reign to a serious revolution. Which is why I decided to temporarily move there.

Ziio hasn't shown herself since we spoke after Johnson's death. I can't help but feel disappointed. Partially because it meant that I couldn't get the chance to meet Connor again and retry reasoning with him. But partially it was due to more selfish reasons.

I guess I miss her. I had already forgotten what it feels like, Now I remembered. And the resentfulness that she was showing towards me made me feel even more eager and determined to prove her wrong. To earn her trust. To regain it, actually. ~~I'm afraid I can no longer count on anything more than trust.~~ Unimportant.

On May 23 rd  English troops residing in Boston received reinforcements from London. Needless to say, that didn't really help to soothe the situation in the city. From the information John Pitcairn provided me with, I know that the orders from London (telling general Gage to pardon the rebels, except for their leaders, who were to be brought to London) were sent before the government received the reports about Lexington and Concord. Which meant it was much easier to give them, than to follow.

The colonists have been gathering around Boston for a few weeks now. They are armed. Poorly, but still. Peaceful solution seems completely out of question.

A few weeks ago, I ordered John Pitcairn to brief me on any decision or other information concerning the actions of the British troops. It wasn't much of a problem to him, seeing as he was one of the officers under gen. Gage's command. Thankfully, he was very conscientious with the given task and I was up-to-date with what the British forces were planning. To secure themselves from said “army” the British generals decided to fortify the Dorchester Hills, outside of Boston.

Having finished reading Pitcairn's latest note, I decided to go for a walk. There were some things that ought to be considered and it's easier for me to think on the fresh air.

Of course, the first thing that popped up in my mind was Connor, but, seeing as I had no news about him either from Ziio or my men, I decided not to worry about him for now. For now, I had to to shut down all the concerns about my son and focus on how the Order was going to deal with the current situation and its implications.

Pitcairn's attempts at finding a peaceful solution failed and with every day the chances of avoinding a massive conflict declined dramatically. I came to the conclusion that if we can't stop the revolution, we might as well try to contain it.

That thought triggered a memory of something Charles Lee brought up when we last met. The matter of the leadership of the continental Army, that didn't exist yet, but chances were that this state of things won't last much longer. The last Continental Congress appointed none other than George Washington as the commander, which was a great disappointment to Charles, as well as the Order. However, it didn't really bother us as long as we still had hope for a peaceful way out. Now Washington became too inconvenient for our cause. We needed our man in charge.

I looked up at the night sky. _If something unfortunate happened to Washington_ , I thought, _Charles would be the most obvious person to replace him. If Washington was, for instance, murdered..._

In the next second, I made the decision and turned back to my current abode. I needed to find messengers who'd deliver the letters to John Pitcairn and the others.

And I couldn't help, but feel slight satisfaction at the prospect of ending the life of the General.

 

_ii_

 

After sending the messengers with the letters and promises of a reward if they delivered them as fast as possible, I sat back by my desk and considered who should we entrust with such a delicate task as the assassination. It had to be someone I trusted. One of us. Charles as one of Washington's generals was out of question. Pitcairn as well, since I didn't want Washington's death connected with the British side. Church isn't much of a fighter. Me and Hickey were the only options left and, although I would gladly slit Washington's throat, it was easier for Hickey to get to him. I didn't suspect he'd oppose much.

I came to the conclusion that there was nothing else I could do for now. In a week's time, I will meet with the others and we'll settle everything.

I'm going to sleep, feeling anything but peaceful. My thoughts are wandering around the rebels, my nowhere-to-be-seen son and Ziio, who disappeared for almost a year now.

What if she changed her mind?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this one's extremely short and mundane, but I needed it as a sort of introduction to the chapter that follows and putting them together would make a mess. The next one will be soon and more eventful :)


	6. 18th June 1775

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, I'd like to apologise for using the wrong speech marks. My document language was set to Polish, hence the mistake.
> 
> As I said, this one's longer

_i_

 

I didn't think I was going to have something important to write so soon, yet here I am.

When I fell asleep on 17 th of June it was well after midnight. I wasn't, however, given the possibility of a long rest. I woke up when it was still dark and for a second I couldn't figure out what disturbed my sleep. Then I saw the faint glow reflecting in the window glass and instantly I knew what was going on.

I jerked up and looked to my right where, as I expected, I saw Ziio.

“Missed me?” she asked, and it might have been made up by my half-sleeping brain, but I thought I saw her smile faintly.

“Yes” I answered, before I could stop myself.

She looked surprised for a second, but then her face quickly returned to its usual, slightly amused but rather vague expression.

“I started to doubt I would see you again” I added.

“Oh, you're not getting rid of me that easily” she responded “We're in this together”

“I assume you're here because of Connor” I said.

“Yes” Ziio answered after a couple of seconds “He's riding to Bunker Hill right now.”

“Bunker Hill?” I frowned “What for?”

“To join the colonists who set up fortifications there.”

“They what?!” I asked , forgetting that it was the middle of the night and I probably shouldn't raise my voice. “When?”

“This night. They're building them as we speak. They’re preparing for battle.” Ziio said calmly as if she was commenting the weather.

No wonder Pitcairn didn't mention it in his last letter.

“So, he _is_ helping the rebels” I said, referring to Connor.

“Yes and no” Ziio replied “Currently what he wants is also what they want”

“And what does _he_ want?”

“To kill John Pitcairn”

I stared at Ziio for a couple of seconds and then jumped out of bed and started getting dressed.

“How much time do I have?” I asked, pulling out the most used and inconspicuous looking clothes.

“He should be there not long after dawn”

I looked outside the window. The sky on the east was turning slightly pink, proclaiming the approaching daybreak.

I still had time.

Then I hesitated. Time for what? For warning Pitcairn? For stopping Connor? I could do only one of those things.

And once more, I chose the second option.

At dawn, the English troops would attack the colonists' stand and the chaos of the battlefield would easily provide Connor with the opportunity to get to Pitcairn. However his guard would be up and the soldiers were going to be all around him, so I had hope that he would have a better chance of survival than Johnson.

“What are you going to do?” Ziio asked.

I stopped, halfway through pulling my shirt up.

“I'm going to go among the rebels” I said “That shouldn't be very difficult. Then, I intend to find Connor.”

“Be careful.”

“I won't hurt him, don't worry.”

“I meant you” she floated off the bed “Try not to die in a stupid way.”

When I rushed out of the inn and into the stable, I knew I was smirking like an idiot and I couldn't help it.

 

_ii_

 

It was dawning when I arrived among the rebel forces. I pulled the hat I was wearing lower and lifted up the scarf and the collar so that they would obscure at least a part of my face. The colonists probably wouldn't recognize me, but the same couldn't be said for Connor. And for now I preferred not to reveal who I am.  _My face would probably be enough to ruin any chance of convincing him_ , I reckoned bitterly.

Waiting for Connor to arrive and staying alert, I occupied myself with the work that was needed to strengthen  ~~ our ~~ the colonists' stand and prepare their weapons. I noticed with pity that their guns and ammunition were much less numerous than those who were going to use them. Frankly, I observed that most of the people present looked determined, but otherwise not really sure of what they were doing. Very few were uniformed. The majority of the colonists probably wasn't even accustomed to holding a musket. I glanced in the direction where the British troops should be. The perfectly organized, disciplined, equipped British troops.

_This is going to be a slaughter_ , I thought.

The battle began at about eight o'clock and Connor was still nowhere to be seen. I tried to stay out of everyone's way and observe my surroundings and finally, after a few hours since the fighting broke out, I spotted his light clothing working its way between the bustling colonists. Connor approached the commander, whose name I didn't know, and started talking to him. As discreetly as possible, I went closer to them.

After a couple of minutes they seemed to have reached some agreement, because the commander nodded lively, turned to his men and called loudly, outshouting the rumble of the battle:

“I need a few men to help Connor get to the British positions!”

I raised my hand instantly.

“I volunteer!” I shouted, trying not to sound British.

Three more men joined us and we set on the suicidal journey across the battlefield.

We began creeping on the side of the field. Although “creeping” may not be the best word for it. It was more of a wild run between the covers with bullets flying all around us. Honestly, if this whole mess, pompously called “revolution” was to be as carefully planned and carried out as Connor's escapade, this thing won't last a week.

At some point, I glimpsed that one of the British troops has just finished reloading their muskets and was now aiming directly at us. Without thinking, I pulled Connor behind a fallen tree as the thunder of the volley filled the air. Somewhere behind us, one of the men let out a short cry of pain and fell down.

Before I managed to say anything, Connor was already on his feet and running again. I hissed in irritation and jumped after him.  _Such lack of any fineness_ , I thought in exasperation. He doesn't think things through, he doesn't plan things, he just rushes head first into the combat. His damn thoughtlessness will kill him before I get the chance.

Miraculously (truly, the fact that we were alive was a miracle) we made it to safety. Most of us, anyway. Connor, me and two other men hid behind the bushes, about halfway through the British lines. I figured that it was high time I did something.

Connor was sneaking cautiously about seven feet ahead of us. I checked my scarf and quickly caught up with him.

“Wait” I hissed, stopping him “Connor, don't do it.”

“What?” the assassin growled “Let go of me, I have to get to Pitcairn!”

“I cannot let you do that” I said quietly, hoping he won't recognize my voice “If you kill him, you'll start a war.”

“There already is a war” Connor tried to pull his arm free.

“It can still be stopped” I said with emphasis, praying he'd understand “Pitcairn wants to resolve everything peacefully. If Adams and Hancock listened, we can still avoid the bloodshed.”

“It's too late for that. Let. Me. Go” Connor hissed “I have to end this”

I guessed that the only reason he didn't use more violent means of getting rid of me was that he mistook me for some pacifist patriot, who could be dealt with a threatening enough tone and a fearsome look.

“I'm afraid I cannot allow that” I said, slightly raising a pistol that I had pulled out a few seconds earlier, discretely enough for the escort not to notice.

“Go ahead then” Connor drawled challengingly.

Even as I am writing it, I still cannot comprehend why I didn't pull the trigger. Why I couldn't pull the trigger. I should have. I  _tried_ to convince my son, but he didn't listen. Killing him right then, right there, would be more than justified. Wouldn't it?

Maybe I wanted to give him one more chance to come to his senses. Maybe Ziio's company refreshed the image of her face in my memories and now I could see her too clearly in his features. His eyes, staring defiantly at me were her eyes. I could swear that at some point Ziio's face flashed before my eyes, enhancing the similarities between her and our son even more and I felt powerless.

Either way, my hesitation gave the other two soldiers the time to join us, realize that something was not right and disarm me, while I was still staring at my son's determined face like an idiot. Maybe I really am getting too old for... everything.

“Tie him, but do not harm him” Connor commanded and disappeared between the bushes, heading into the middle of British forces.

The fight that commenced after that (because I was not going to just wait patiently to get tied up and then probably trialed as a traitor of the rebels) was rather short, but fierce. Soon, both of my opponents were dead. Unfortunately, when I followed Connor's footsteps, the yells and turmoil coming from where the British generalcy was led me to the conclusion that Pitcairn has already joined the two patriots.

Cursing silently I removed myself from the battlefield and quickly returned to the place where I left my horse, getting rid of my blood-spattered jacket on the way.

 

_iii_

 

I paced across the room, there and back again. Ziio was sitting on the table and watching me. Her expression was enigmatic, but there were those sparks in her eyes which led me to the conclusion that she was a bit amused by my visible irritation.

“He is completely reckless. Lacks any kind of stealthiness” I complained “He doesn't think things through, he's inconsiderate...”

“He's your son, what did you expect?” Ziio shrugged, smirking.

“What?” I stopped, glaring at her “When was I ever... I'm not reckless.”

“You do sometimes act a bit... impetuously”

“ _Impetuously_?” I raised my eyebrows.

Ziio just nodded.

“Even if, my actions never provoked the whole British army!”

“Do you truly think the war could have been stopped?” Ziio asked dubiously “After what happened in April?”

“Oh, please” I waved my hand dismissively “Street fights in Boston are sometimes more bloody than that. The only difference this time is that it was the _British_ soldiers who killed those few man, which only confirmed that the _poor_ colonists are suffering from the hand of their ruthless King.”

“But would Hancock and Adams listen? You might have forgotten, but Pitcairn came there with an army.”

I couldn't argue with that. Bringing an army did indeed send a nasty message to the patriots. I don't suppose the British really thought this through. Pitcairn was also aware of the riskiness of such action, yet his objections were dismissed.

“He didn't want to listen” I sighed “I tried to talk to him. But he was just so stubborn. And naïve. ”

I leaned against the table, next to Ziio.

“What is he like?” I asked her. “Frankly?”

She considered for a second.

“Brave. Strong-willed. Kind. Teachable. Clever”

“If he was clever, he wouldn't act so thoughtlessly” I murmured.

“As you said, he's also very stubborn” Ziio shrugged.

“I'd rather he wasn't clever” I said “Smart people always believe they know better.”

“You're a smart person, Haytham” Ziio pointed out.

I turned my head to look at her. My first instinct was to respond with a “yes, but...” when I realized that it would only prove Ziio's point. I frowned. I  _do_ believe I know better. I had decades to learn how the world works and establish my views and knowledge. I've always tried to remember that “nothing is true” and question everything. Could that sense of having wider horizons than other people make me actually more ignorant than them? I always felt the superiority of the Templars came from the fact that we don't have a creed that blinds us to reality. We're more flexible. We observe and shape our actions depending on the situation. The Assassins mindlessly seek their freedom, not really considering the price it may cost or any consequences it may have.

I'm considerate and I question things. It's not about being smarter, it's about thinking independently.

“Haytham” Ziio's mild voice pulled me from my thoughts. “You're not an ill-natured person. You're not stupid. You do not seek power merely for the power itself. I want Ratonhnhaké:ton to see your point of view. And then make his decision about whether he wants to fight you or not. As I said, I do not wish to see you destroy each other merely in the name of your creed or Order.”

“I can hardly say there's something mere about that”

Ziio snorted quietly.

“You know, when you're no longer bound by the limitations of the living, you see things differently. You see how silly and unnecessary and violent your conflict is. You see the pointlessness of this petty revolution that's about to happen.”

“ _Petty_?”

“Come on, Haytham, you know it too” Ziio said grimly “You know that even if the colonists win, they won't be much more liberated than they are now. All they'll achieve is a change of kings.”

I nodded. It was a dismal vision, but a valid one too.

“I've been meaning to ask you this for a while” I began, looking at her carefully “Whose side are you on?”

Ziio smiled wryly.

“I told you that ages ago and that hasn't changed since then” she said.

“Alright” I expected that “But whose side do you want _Connor_ to support?”

“Same” Ziio said coldly, looking into the distance “I want him to see that, regardless of who wins, neither the colonists, nor the British will take _his_ side. We have to stand for ourselves.”

I nodded. Another question appeared in my head, but I found myself unwilling to ask it. Perhaps I don't really want to know whether Ziio would agree more with the Assassins or with us. Perhaps I suspected that even she isn't fully in  favour of my cause. And I didn't want to hear it from her. Not yet.

Of course, I'll have to talk about it with her eventually. As the Grand Master I can't just blindly follow Ziio's advice, not knowing her motives or else my weakness will put the entire Colonial Rite at risk.


	7. 26th June 1776

_i_

 

A few days after the battle of Bunker Hill, as it was later referred to, I learned that, having killed John Pitcairn, Connor found the letter I had sent to the major the previous day. The one containing our plans of assassinating Washington. Well. My plans, actually.

I couldn't help feeling irritated by my late colleague. Earlier, I complained about Connor's thoughtlessness and now it was the same lack of consideration from Pitcairn's side that put our whole mission at risk.

Maybe he didn't trust his British companions enough to leave the letter in their headquarters? Maybe he put it in his pocket after reading it and forgot it was there? He could hardly predict that someone will kill him and loot his body the following day, after all...

Either way, it remained a fact that Connor knew who, where and approximately when was going to assault George Washington. Maybe my son would have decided to leave this alone, or at least, not to get involved personally if it hadn't been for the fact that it was Thomas Hickey – a Templar – whom I suggested as the executioner.

This time I decided to be faster than Connor. I've been patient enough.

When I met with Hickey, Lee and Church on the appointed day, few weeks after the battle and for the first time since Pitcairn died, I began by saying:

“Gentlemen, firstly I'd like to address the two accidents, due to which me meet in such a depleted state today. The deaths of our fellow brothers.”

The three men were watching me carefully. During our seldom meetings we never talked about Johnson. I suppose they just attributed his death to the Natives. And Pitcairn’s decease on the battlefield was unexpected, but not unthinkable. It was a battle, after all. Dying is mostly what people do there and death doesn’t discriminate between a private and a general, Templar or not.

I didn't think that any of my co-workers attributed both deaths to one killer. Let alone the Assassin. Although it would be quite logical an assumption, come to think of it. But I could understand that. Many years have passed since we last had to deal with the Assassins. None of us wanted to admit that,despite all our efforts, they have returned to bother us again.

“I've got reasons to believe” I continued “That these killings can be connected with one person. The Assassin that you saw in Boston.”

“So he's after us” said Charles.

“Indeed. And, if I may guess, Thomas is his next target.”

“Me?” Hickey raised his eyebrows, looking more surprised than frightened or concerned.

“I'm afraid so” I nodded “We do not know where the Assassin is or when he'll strike, but what we do know is that he intends to thwart our assault on George Washington”

That was more of my guess than a fact, but the longer I thought about it, the more plausible it sounded.

“What do you suggest we do, Haytham?” Ben Church asked “We can't just sit here and wait until he comes for every one of us.”

“Indeed we can't But right now, we can do nothing to stop him, except for keeping our eyes open and waiting for his next move. We'll provide you with a guard, Hickey. I'm afraid that's all we can do _for now_.”

I decided to conceal the fact that the guard provided little protection for Johnson or Pitcairn. My friends weren't idiots. They knew it.

However, another plan was already forming in my head _. If I manage to carry it out_ , I thought, _the guard may not even be needed and no one will die._

Apart from Washington.

 

_ii_

My plan required Ziio's trust. And a lot of it, since I needed her to tell me the exact day that Connor would approach. I wasn't sure if I earned it. Or, rather, retrieved it. Although so far, I did nothing to suggest that I wanted to harm the boy before talking some sense into him. More than that, actually, looking at Bunker Hill, where I saved his life.

But I needed to actually talk to Ziio and she was nowhere to be seen. So I had to conjure her somehow. I got to it as soon as I returned to my apartment after the meeting. Connor could have been on his way as we spoke and there was no time to lose. Having locked the door and closed the windows, I stood in the middle of the room and, feeling very silly, called quietly:

“Ziio?”

No response.

“Ziio” I repeated louder.

I wondered briefly how does this actually work. Is she always around, just not revealing herself? Or does she only come down here from time to time? Or is she usually around Connor, keeping an eye on our son?

“Damn it, woman. I know you can hear me!” I exclaimed in exasperation. “Can't you answer me?!”

“Oh I can” said a voice behind me “I just like to watch you irritated.”

I turned around to face Ziio.

“A rather unusual pastime” I pointed out dryly.

“I don't exactly have many options left” she replied, shrugging “Why did you call for me?”

“I need your help.”

“When don't you?”

I smiled wryly in response.

“I need you to tell me exactly when Connor will try to assault Hickey.”

A distrustful look appeared on Ziio's face.

“So what?” she asked coldly. “So you can set up a trap for him?”

“Yes, precisely” I wasn't going to hide it. There was no point. “All this time, he was one step ahead of us. Of me. I need to outrun him this time.”

Ziio crossed her arms on her chest and looked to the side. It was clear it wouldn't be easy to convince her.

“I swear, all I want is to make him listen to me” I continued “If he's allied with the rebels he will see that they have a bigger chance of succeeding without Washington. That even though he holds a grudge against Charles, Lee’s leadership would be a better one.”

“Are you going to tell him about what Washington did?” the woman asked, still not looking at me.

I shook my head. I've been thinking about it since I found out what Connor is planning. If he learned that it was the man whose life my son was planning to save to whom he owed losing his mother, it would surely make him think twice before helping him. And there were few things in the world I wanted more than to acquit myself of this particular charge. However, the chances that Connor would believe me were faint. Firstly, he was as far from trusting me as possible. Secondly, this particular inglorious fact from Washington's past would probably seem a bit _too_ convenient for our purposes. Finally, I had no way to prove it, apart from Ziio's testimony.

If I was ever going to try to clear my name in Connor's eyes, I'd have to wait until there was nothing I could gain from it. So probably to the point when my son trusts me completely.

So probably never.

“Not now, no” I responded to Ziio's question. “Right now, Connor would only think that I'm trying to get him out of our way, convincing him that Washington is his enemy and the result would be the opposite of intended.”

“You know it won't be easy to change his mind about saving Washington”

“I'm aware of that” I nodded.

“What if he's too obstinate to agree?” Ziio asked looking me in the eye “And you know that he probably is.”

I understood the unspoken question.

_If he does not listen to you, will you kill him?_

I should. Never mind the family bonds that connected me and the Assassin. It would simply look suspicious if I didn't kill him and weaken my position as the Grand Master. Plus, he did just kill two of my men and despite the Templars and the Assassins fighting on the same side of the war, we were still enemies.

But I knew that if I wanted to save Hickey, get rid of Washington and catch my son, the condition was a guarantee of his safety. Otherwise Ziio wouldn't tell me anything.

“I'll try to convince him”

Ziio sighed. I could see that she was considering it.

“What is it that you want to do, exactly?” she asked.

“Capture and imprison him. Talk without the need to look out for his blade Make him listen.”

“How?”

“By preventing him from escaping. Nothing more. As I said, I only want to talk some sense into him.”

“Alone?”

“Alone” I said, looking at Ziio solemnly.

I understood why she didn't want any other Templars to take part in this.

“And I swear” I continued “whatever happens, I'll see to it that he's free after that.”

I got the unpleasant feeling of betraying the Order (again) but I ignored it. It was a deal. A consensus, that might benefit us all. It's not like I'm going to pardon him forever.

“Even if you had to fight your own men?” Ziio raised an eyebrow.

“Yes” I responded “This time – yes.”

She still wasn't convinced.

“Ziio” I began “I know, that the last time... I abused your trust. It won't happen again now, I swear. It's not even about him being my... son. _We_ have a deal and I intend to fulfill my end of it.”

Ziio was quiet for a few seconds.

“Fine” she said, visibly far from content. “I'll tell you when Ratonhnhaké:ton comes. You'll have a few hours.”

“That's all I ask.”

“And that's all you'll get” she stepped (stepped?) closer “But be warned. If anything happens to him, if you break our deal again, I will haunt you forever. You will never be at peace. Not now, not in your sleep, not when death comes for you, I promise you this.”

I nodded. I believed every word she said.

She looked at me grimly for a couple of seconds before disappearing. When she did, I breathed a sigh of relief. That went well.

Of course, I couldn't blame Ziio for not approving of this project.

Had I had a son, whom I raised and looked after and, well, to whom I was everything a father should be, I probably wouldn't want to put my child in such peril either.

I guess.

_iii_

Ziio informed me of Connor's approaching about three weeks later.

I had everything ready. For the past few weeks I had been making sure that Hickey's place of residence is far from secret and Connor would have no trouble finding it if he asks the right people. (If I were him, I would probably become a little bit suspicious that Hickey is not hiding at all. But Connor was Connor, and based on what I knew about him, such circumspection would go against the grain for him. Sad.)

Except that it wasn't Hickey's actual abode, of course. We rented an apartment by one of the quieter alleys of central New York specifically for the occasion.

All the windows were boarded up and the way upstairs was blocked. There was only one possible way in and out – the front door, which was supposed to be closed by one of our man, as soon as Connor walks inside.

The only other way out left (if it can be called that) would be the chimney. This one, however, we were going to use for our own purposes.

The plan was simple: after Connor enters though the door, a sleeping grenade will be thrown inside the apartment through the chimney. Connor falls asleep and, if everything goes right (and it had to) no one would get killed. I was not going to lose more men to that boy.

Ironic thing is that it was the Assassins who first attempted to use the grenades to establish their power over New York, back in the fifties. It's also ironic how the trap we set for Connor was very similar to the one Shay Cormac fell into while chasing an Assassin. And now the Brotherhood was going to get a dose of their own medicine.

But, of course, Connor probably didn’t know about any of those facts.

He arrived early in the morning. I waited on the roof, with two of my men. Another one was lurking behind a wall of the house that Connor passed.The boy was completely blind in his hurry and eagerness to get Hickey.

I shook my head slowly in disapproval. If only he looked around...

But he didn't.

He opened the door to the apartment and, as I heard them slam against the wall I pulled the pin and threw the grenade inside the chimney. I heard it land on the floor with a metallic “cling!”.

A loud thud could be heard and I guessed that it must have been my son, trying to escape the reach of the gas through the closed door. But vainly.

We waited one minute, then put on our gas masks, quickly jumped to the ground and ran inside.

Connor was laying on the floor, unconscious. I didn't have to order my companions to disarm him, they got to it as soon as we entered the room.

I felt little pity for the boy. He was no defenseless child. He was a ruthless killer.

We tied him up and took him outside, partially carrying, partially dragging his body.

_You're no weakling, Connor, are you?_ I thought in irritation, carrying on my wayward son to the awaiting carriage and huffing in effort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting closer and closer to the point where I know what I'm doing, guys!


	8. 27th June 1776

_i_

 

I doubt Connor had a good night's sleep. The effect of the gas wore off no sooner had we placed the boy in the previously prepared cell in the building on the outskirts of New York, so for the whole night he was presumably wondering why we didn't kill him instantly and how much life does he still have left. And what's going to happen to him before we finally decide to get rid of him.

Or maybe he was only planning how to get out of his prison. That seemed more probable. More like the Connor I got to know so far. I suspect he is going to take the first chance of getting out he'll get, which basically meant that whoever first walks into his cell is a dead man. Of course, yesterday, when we brought Connor here, we tied him up properly, but I had little hope that the bounds are still there now, in the morning.

I said that my son probably didn't sleep well tonight. Well, neither did I. At first anyway.

Questions about what will the following day bring and how my meeting with Connor will go made it difficult to just peacefully fall asleep.

I suppose it was also them who woke me at an unreasonably early hour and prevented from going back to sleep. And here I am, sitting by the window, with a candle lit, because the pale daylight isn't enough to let me write.

Why am I so bothered by the perspective of meeting my son? No such thing happened before Bunker Hill. I guess it may be caused by the fact that this is the moment I've been anticipating for a couple of years now. I had one shot and I couldn't throw it away.

No sign of Ziio, though I do not doubt that she's watching. Either me or Connor.

I think I'm going to try to get some more sleep after all. Yawning, or worse: letting my guard down because of tiredness in front of Connor is the last thing I want right now. In the best case, it will make me look funny, in the worst – it'll make me dead.

 

_ii_

 

It was well after daybreak when I finally left my room and headed downstairs. However I didn't make it to the end of the corridor, when someone called my name:

“Haytham!”

I turned around, raising my eyebrows at the sight of Charles Lee, quickly climbing up the stairs. I wondered briefly what was he doing here, since he was supposed to be on the other side of the city.

“Charles” I nodded, greeting him.

“Your men told me you got him” Lee stood next to me, trying to hide his excitement “That you got the Assassin.”

“Indeed” I nodded once more.

“Why did you bring him here? Keeping him alive seems like an unnecessary risk.”

“It's a risk, alright, but I believe it's far from unnecessary”

I started walking down the stairs that Lee has just climbed up in such hurry. Charles followed me.

“So you want to make him talk?” he asked, looking at me carefully. “What can he possibly know that we do not?”

“Charles” I looked at him with indulgence “You severely underestimate our knowledge. Look how long it took us to notice that the colonial Brotherhood has come back to life...”

“With just one Assassin” Lee interrupted me in a dismissive tone.

Overestimating us and underestimating them. Those are Lee's weaknesses.

“Just one Assassin” I replied and stopped walking as we entered the hallway “And look how much damage he has done already. Even one man can change the course of war”

“So killing him would solve the problem” Lee shrugged.

“No, it wouldn't. We have to cure the cause, not the symptoms of the illness. I want to know whether he's the only Assassin or are there others. Shay Cormac told us about the Homestead when he joined us, remember? The Assassins' hive. We have to find out if it's up and running again or is C-...our Assassin the only one trained there. And, of course, we need to learn how much does he know about the Order. Or, rather, how much Achilles Davenport has told him so far.”

Charles was looking at me, still frowning. I could see that he understood my point. He wasn't an idiot. He was just hot-headed (“Boiling Water” Ziio called him and, once again, I must say that's very accurate) and he often jumped to conclusions without longer consideration.

Obviously, I don’t need to say that I wasn’t going t bring up any of those subjects when I talk to Connor. We had other things to talk about. However, I needed to give Lee a plausible explanation for why didn’t I imprisoned or enemy instead of simply killing him. Luckily, he trusted me unconditionally.

“Alright” he nodded “But that doesn't mean we can't kill him afterwards”

“Stands to reason”

“Fine. Let's go, then.”

I cursed mentally. I didn't want anyone else to take part in this. It was partially why I sent Lee and the rest of my men to the other side of the city.

This was supposed to be a family only meeting, after all.

“Charles, I'd like to talk to him alone” I said decidedly.

“What?! Why?” Charles exclaimed “You can't go to that savage on your own!. If he puts up a fight, and we both know he will, you’ll need support.”

“Your concern is touching, Charles, but needless” I smiled wryly “I'm not that old. I can still handle an angry kid, who, unlike me, will be unarmed. You didn't think I'd walk in there with nothing but my good looks, did you?”

“Still...”

“We'll have better chance of learning anything if there's only one person there, not two armed men, pointing guns at the lad's head.”

I knew that this time it may take more than just logical arguments to convince Lee. Despite all his flaws, he was very loyal and didn't want me to face the danger alone.

Touching, but, as I said, unnecessary.

“Do not forget, Charles” I added before Lee started arguing again “That he hates you the most. Your presence would not only hinder the interrogation, it could make it impossible”

Charles tightened his lips, so I sighed and said:

“That's an order, Charles. Not a debate.”

Finally and reluctantly, Lee nodded.

“Also” I added “There's no point in you waiting here. I don't know how long is it going to take. You can visit me tomorrow, so we can settle what to do with the Assassin. Go get some rest.”

Having said that, I headed to the basement, where we turned one of the chambers into a proper cell.

“What makes you think he'll talk to you?” Charles called after me.

“I think my aura of good will and my charming personality will convince him” I replied, not turning around. “I also have a pistol, if that doesn't work.”

Lee didn't respond, so I guessed he must've accepted the explanation. Or maybe years of us fighting side by side taught him that he can trust that I know what I'm doing. _He trusts me_ , I thought. _If only he knew_...

I've already wondered about how Lee would react if he knew that Connor is my son. I wouldn't go so far as to say that I considered actually telling him about it... I had an odd need to keep this fact to myself. I felt that this unusual relation between me and the Assassins – my father, my upbringing, my son – was something that neither Charles could understand nor I could fully explain to anyone.

With maybe one exception: a man who already has a complicated relation with the Assassins. Namely: he'd been one long ago.

Maybe someday.

I cleared my head of these thoughts and focused on what was about to happen right now.

I stood in front of the sturdy, wooden door which led to Connor's cell. Taking deep, calming breaths, I closed my eyes and pictured the inside of the room.

The door was placed by the right wall of the cell and it opened to the right as well, so no one could hide behind it. Also, the person entering the room could see the whole of it at once. No part of the room, where someone could lurk, was obscured from his view. That gave me slight advantage.

 _Now_ , I thought, _how would I act, if I was held prisoner in such cell?_ Obviously, I'd decide to act by surprise. Even if Connor didn't hear me approaching, the unlocking of the door will alert him, so _I_ won't be able to surprise _him_. He also had another asset on his side: there was only one place from which I could come – the door. He had a couple of square meters to choose from and I had no way of knowing whether he'll attack from the front or the side.

One thing I did know – he was unarmed. We took his Assassin robes away from him together with the whole arsenal in and underneath them. Additionally, there was no furniture in the cell, so there was nothing my son could use as a weapon against me.

I considered how should I deal with the situation. My blade and sword were out of question. While I could use the flat of the sword to stun Connor, I preferred not to try it. The boy will throw himself at me the second I walk in there, that's certain and even despite my best efforts not to harm him, chances were that he'll impale himself on either blade or at least get himself badly cut. And I had a promise to keep.

Which was another factor to my disadvantage. I needed Connor alive. He was bound by no such restrictions towards me.

Anyway, the blade and sword were rejected, which left me with a pistol. Even though I didn't intend to fire it, I could still use it to throw a painful punch and gain some time. And when that happens, when Connor hesitates for a moment, a gun pointed at his head (or ankle – a painful, but not deadly shot, which would prevent him from further resistance) may make him listen to what I had to say.

 _And what am I going to say?_ I asked myself.

First of all, I had to make sure that my son understands that I intend to let him go and not kill him. Which required a silly little thing called trust. _I need a lot of it recently_ , I thought, smirking.

I decided not to delay the inevitable any further. I turned the key, unlocking the door. Having loosened the gun in its holster and made sure it comes out swiftly, I lifted the staple which kept the door closed and swung the door wide open.

Entering, I tried not to focus myself on any specific part of the cell, but look at the whole of it, to notice and react immediately to Connor's attack.

It came from the front, as my son threw himself at me, leaning forward, charging. Instead of trying to stop him, I moved to the side a little bit, at the same time moving my leg to trip him up. When Connor sped next to me, he stumbled over it and lost his balance. Instead of letting him fall, I caught his arm and turned his devoid of balance body around, back into the cell. I let go of him and Connor fell into the wall. Amortizing the power of the impact and bounced off from it, swinging a wide punch aimed at my jaw. I took a step back, but was a millisecond too late and Connor's fist reached my shoulder. The power of the hit caused me to turn to the side and I used it to turn round, simultaneously crouching and tripping Connor up with my right foot. The boy fell down, the impact pushing the air out of his lungs. That was the moment I waited for. I took out my gun and aimed it at Connor.

“That's quite enough, I think” I said calmly.

Connor glared at me, ~~his mother's eyes~~ his eyes burning with anger.

“Go ahead then” he snarled and I had a sudden feeling of déjà vu, since this was exactly what he said during our last encounter, one year ago, with my gun pointed at him, just like now.

His eyes widened, as if he's just realized something as well.

“No patriots can interrupt us now” he added.

I understood that he was talking about Bunker Hill. So he finally saw through my brilliant masquerade.

“Do you think that these ragtag simpletons could have stopped me if I'd really wanted to kill you?” I asked coldly.

Connor frowned.

“ I didn't then and I do not now” I said quietly but with emphasis “Now, can we just talk like normal people or do you still want to make things difficult?”

Connor slowly stood up.

“Why?” he asked, eying me with suspicion.

“Why what?”

“Why don't you want to kill me?”

 _Because I promised this to your dead mother_ didn't sound like the best way to gain his trust. Unless, of course, he'd assume that I'm a loony and thus harmless. I've heard that the Natives treat lunatics with a certain indulgence, even respect of sorts. _Maybe that was a way_ , I thought ironically.

“Perhaps I saw something in you that made keeping you alive worth it?” I suggested, not really answering his question.

Connor was still keeping a safe distance from me. Nothing in his stance suggested that he was going to attack me again, but I still watched him warily, ready to react at the slightest sign of such intent appearing.

“And what was it?” he asked.

I nodded to myself approvingly. He didn't let me dismiss himself. I also didn't fail to notice that so far, he's done or said nothing to suggest that he's aware of the fact that I am his father. I remembered that he didn't know that I knew. Presumably, he wasn't going to reveal it until he figures out what kind of person I am and what my reaction could be. I decided not to be the first one to raise that issue.

“Well, we both want the same thing, for one” I said, lowering my gun “For the time being, we stand on the same side, so we may as well bury the axe.”

“Oh?” Connor asked in a sarcastic tone “That's new. Since when do your people want the same thing as I do?”

“Since the best thing for this country is its separation from the British Empire” I replied “I don't know why _you're_ so keen on this concept as well, but the fact remains, that we both support the revolutionaries now.”

“By leading the British army to fight them?”

“That was when war still could have been stopped” I replied patiently, shaking my head “Now it's too late for that.”

Connor crossed his arms and looked at me with squinted eyes.

“And how does killing Washington help the patriot cause?” he asked.

He probably thought he'd surprise me with this knowledge of our plans. Of course, I had to disappoint him. Moreover, if I were in Connor's place, I doubt I would share the fact of having such information so airily. It would just add one more reason why I shouldn't be kept alive. But that's me.

“The better question is: how does Washington himself help the patriot cause?” I responded “Which is to say – not particularly. His experience and strategic skills are less than mediocre.”

Connor frowned. He couldn't understand what I was talking about. Obviously, he got so used to the concept of Templars sabotaging the colonist army by assassinating Washington that any other version of the story was inconceivable for him.

I snorted silently.

“My point is” I said “Washington will doom this revolution quicker and better than we could. His death will benefit the army, trust me.”

“You're wrong” Connor said simply “His death will bring chaos amongst the soldiers. And with chaos, failure.”

“Not if a competent leader takes over”

This time the boy snorted.

“And who would that be?”

At that moment, I remembered that the door to the cell was still opened. I didn't think Charles capable of eavesdropping – he respected me far too much for that – and I was quite sure he listened to me and went home, nonetheless better safe than sorry. The last thing I wanted was Lee, overhearing us chatting about him. I stepped back to the entrance, still keeping an eye on Connor, and closed the door.

Apparently, that only increased Connor's suspicions.

“Tell me why you brought me here” he demanded “Why didn't you just kill me?”

“As I said, I believe we can reach an accord” I replied.

“I'm not going to collaborate with Templars. Even if you're...” Connor bit his tongue.

I snickered. _So close._

“We have the same goal, don't you see?” I asked, putting my pistol back in the holster. Not because I suddenly started feeling safe around my son, but to show that I do not intend to harm him.

“All that's different is our means of achieving it” I added “Plus, you're killing my people, but I can forgo avenging them, if you agree with me.”

“And if I don't?”

I made a face.

“Well, I won't kill you either way” I said begrudgingly.

“Why?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes” Connor was looking me in the eyes.

I thought for a second. _How to tell him the truth and not sound like a bedlamite?_

“I have a debt to repay” I replied shortly.

“What debt...”

“That's none of your business” I snapped “Just accept the fact that I'm not going to kill you and move on!”

I believe that this is by far the weirdest thing I've ever said to anyone.

“We're on the same side...” I began again, but Connor interrupted me:

“You keep saying this, but you have nothing to show for it! You fought against the patriots, you support the British, you want to kill Washington, you tried to steal our land...”

“Oh, we are _not_ having this conversation again” I said before I managed to stop myself.

“Have you a smart answer for all of that?” Connor asked mockingly. “Because the way I see it, it’s quite clear who do you stand for, and it’s not the same people I do.”

I felt utterly irritated. It was like beating a head against a brick wall. No arguments could get through Connor's “I know better” lines of defence. He saw everything the way he (or Achilles?) wanted to and nothing I said could change that.

I took a deep breath and tried one last time:

“William Johnson was trying to protect your people and their land from the war” I said calmly “John Pitcairn wanted to stop the bloodshed and find a peaceful solution. And Charles Lee will be a much better Commander-in-Chief of the army than Washington. His practical and tactical knowledge...”

That was a mistake.

“ _Charles Lee_?” Connor almost spat out his name. “Is that who you want to replace Washington?”

I nodded, cursing myself.

“You don't want to _help_ the patriots” the Assassin said quietly. “You just want to _control_ them, like you want to control everything! You only seek the _power_!”

“Connor”

“I will not allow that” my son sounded determined “This is what I fight for and if you want to stop me, you'll have to kill me!”

“Your private issues with Lee have nothing to do with what kind of leader he'd make!” I said angrily “You're blind, Connor!”

“Private issues?” the boy repeated in a flat voice, but it was clear that he barely manages to contain himself “You don't know what he did. You don't...That man is a monster and if you don't see it then you're the BLIND ONE!”

“You're DELUDED!” I exclaimed “You know nothing about Lee or me or your beloved cause. You only see what you want to see and YOU'RE A FOOL!”

“Of course, I'm a fool. ANYONE who isn't you is A FOOL. You're just the same as HIM! YOU'RE A MONSTER TOO!”

“At least I know what I believe in! I know who and what I stand for. I see the truth and not illusions of it!”

“Leave” Connor growled “We've got nothing to talk about. You and I... we will never be on the same side. Leave.”

It seemed a bit irrational that he was the one to ask me to leave his cell and maybe I should have stayed, just to show him who is in charge here. But at that moment all I wanted was to get away from my son as far as possible.

I quickly walked to the door, opened it with a yank and exited the cell, bidding Connor farewell with a short:

“Goodbye, son”

 

_iii_

 

Having come back to my room I ripped the hat off my head and threw it at the wall in a childish act of powerless fury.

 _I failed_ , I thought at that moment, breathing heavily and clenching my fists. I've been compromising the Order for a few years now and for what? I betrayed my men, I saved the Assassin... Johnson's and Pitcairn's blood was on my hands, because I was so soft... because I allowed myself to believe in such silly cause, like an idiot.

It is plain to me now that Connor was right. I am blind. I was blinded by my affection for Ziio, by my selfishness, by hope... And for what? Only to discover that the Assassin was exactly what I should have expected him to be.

An idiot, bemused by his creed.

“You were wrong” I muttered angrily, to no one in particular.

“Haytham”

For the first time ever, her voice didn't lift my spirits.

“Are you happy?” I asked bitterly, staring at the wall “Was that the beautiful reunion you hoped for?”

Ziio stood next to me.

“He's obstinate” she said mildly “I agree, but...”

“But what?” I glared at her.

“You can't just tell him what you believe is right and expect that he'll accept it immediately” she responded quietly. “If you explain to him...”

“I should think I did enough explaining” I said coldly, looking to the side “He doesn't want to understand and I indulged him for too long.”

“What... what are you saying?”

I sighed. But I've already made my mind.

“That's enough. I made you a promise and I kept it. I spared your son's life. I tried...” I gritted my teeth “But now it's over. This will be the last time I let him walk free. If he stands in my way again, he'll die.”

For a few seconds there was silence. When Ziio spoke her voice wasn't angry or sad. It was just disappointed.

“I thought higher of you”

Normally this would hurt me at least a little bit. Not now.

“Well, look at that” I snorted sarcastically “We all misjudged one another.”

The warmth I felt by my side vanished. Ziio left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You didn't think it was going to be that easy, did you?
> 
> P.S. I think I may change the title of this fic somewhere in the next few days. Just warning you :)


	9. 28th June 1776

_i_

 

I woke up late. For a few seconds my half-conscious brain was trying to process the events of the previous day. When it did, I moaned silently and closed my eyes, praying that the memories of yesterday would fade away. But they didn't, they got even more vivid and, willy-nilly, I began analyzing my meeting with Connor as well as its aftermath.

Thinking about it with a cooler head and from a time perspective, I cursed myself for the lack of self-control. I acted like a short-tempered brat, my behaviour wasn't much better than the Assassin's. Of course, he was also to blame for how things turned out, but I had no control over the way he acted. Over the way I did – yes. And I just let the reins out of my hand, if I may use such metaphor.

Maybe if Connor's silly tantrum had been confronted by my calm and logical approach, he would have finally decided to act more maturely. But, for some reason, instead of him taking example from me, I started acting like him, which is pathetic.

I tried to figure out why it happened. I always manage to stay collected, no matter what kind of situation I find myself in, no matter what amount of stress I'm under. And here there was no stress. Just an angry child, for God's sake! I had been planning what I was going to say to him when I get the chance for months, years even. And when I stood face to face with him, it all went to Hell.

I suppose that may have been one of the reasons of my failure. I prepared answers for any charges Connor might bring up. I was ready to defend against every one of those charges and one by one destroy all of them, until Connor would be left with no other choice but to admit that I'm right and he's wrong. I didn't predict the scenario in which the Assassin doesn't _want_ to understand and admit to his mistakes.

Furthermore, bringing up Charles's name most certainly didn't help me to gain Connor's trust. I should have anticipated that if not his unreasonable loyalty towards Washington, then his unwarranted personal vendetta against Lee would make it impossible for the Assassin to agree to Washington's death.

Funny, how the Virginian general can stand in my way in more ways than one. Well, this just adds another reason to look forward to his prompt decease.

It all went downhill from there. Connor's obstinacy made me lose my cool and the Assassin... he didn't even have it in the first place, so that couldn't have ended well.

I sighed in irritation, getting up. The fact remained that Connor didn't _want_ to listen. He didn't _want_ to understand. And I was prepared for many things: an argument, obviously. Reproaches for my alleged participation in causing Ziio's death and the destruction of his home. Johnson's actions were mentioned at one point, just as I expected. (To be perfectly candid, I'd be surprised if they weren't)

But not this. Not this... stubborn _unwillingness_ to see my point. To see the truth. Despite all my mistakes, we still could have reached an accord if he wanted to. And, apparently, he didn't. As I said yesterday, Ziio was wrong. Or maybe she knew that all along? Maybe she didn't care about this _unity_ and used it only to save her son's life? That seemed plausible. After all, she owed me nothing but revenge.

I almost wanted to laugh at my foolishness. At my gullibility. At my naivety. And I dared to accuse Connor of believing in tall tales? I was no better. She didn't care ~~about me~~ who won the war. Or about the truce between us and the Assassins or about who had the upper hand in the colonies. All Ziio wanted was to protect her son. Of course. Why wouldn't she?

Well, despite my disappointment, I'm glad it's over. I'm glad I managed to finish this without breaking Ziio's promise. Now, I can finally just fulfill my duty as the Grand Master, without the Assassin distracting me. I have absolutely no regrets whatsoever.

Right now there is only one thing left to do, concerning Connor.

 

_ii_

Obeying my wish, Charles visited me in the early afternoon. I could see that he was all agog and I couldn't help but wonder for a brief moment, whether it was because he was eager to find out what I managed to learn from our prisoner or he was simply looking forward to the moment when we can finally get rid of him. Probably both.

“Good afternoon, Master Kenway” he said briskly, bowing his head respectfully after entering the room.

“To you as well, Charles” I greeted him. “Tea?”

“Yes, please” the man glanced around the room. “I see you've made yourself comfortable.”

“I have?”

In fact, the décor of my room couldn't even be described as “modest”. After all, I only stayed here for a few days. Apart from a simple mattress with a blanket on it, a table, two chairs, a trunk in which I kept my things and a simple stove (a remainder of the times when someone actually called this building home) the room was empty. I suppose it haven’t  such luxuries as wallpapers or curtains in years.

“Well” I shrugged, taking out the tea, two cups and a kettle “Just because I reside here temporarily that doesn't mean I have to live like a barbarian.”

“Quite so”

Lee sat by the table.

“So” he began “Did you manage to learn anything?”

 _You have no idea_ , I thought. I decided to share some information with Charles. It was not entirely new, not entirely secret, not of great importance and _definitely_ not what I learned from my meeting with Connor (most of it, anyway), however I simply felt the need to prove to him that I was right keeping the Assassin alive, although Lee initially opposed the idea.

“Not much” I replied, preparing the tea “Almost nothing we hadn't already known. He does have his allies, although I don't think they're actual members of the Brotherhood. Also, his actions against us are more than just the pursuit of destroying the Order. For some reason, he's allied with the rebels. He supports their cause.”

“Odd” Lee frowned “Makes no sense.”

“It doesn't, does it?”

That was the thing that bothered me about Connor for quite a while (That is, among all the other things that bothered me about him) Neither allying with the British nor the patriots should seem particularly favourable from Connor’s point of view. Not as an Assassin, but as a member of indigenous tribes of America. If I were him, I'd take advantage of the fact that the loyalists and the patriots – both oppressors from the Natives' standpoint – are trying to destroy each other and help them achieve it.

Maybe Connor thinks that if the rebels win, their gratitude for his help will benefit his people? Maybe he saw the patriots as smaller evil? I should have asked him that. Technically, I still could. But I wasn't going to. All those silly notions, the weakness, must be left in the past. The sooner I forget about them, the better.

I placed a cup of tea on the table in front of Lee and sat on the other chair.

“Well, it doesn't matter” Lee shrugged “He's no longer of any use to us alive and we can finally end this. Shall we do it now?”

It amused me how Charles, sitting comfortably by the table and sipping his tea has just casually proposed a murder, as if he was suggesting going for a walk.

 _“Custom hath made it in him a property of easiness”_ I thought. And, I suppose, I was no different. When was the last time I questioned myself before taking someone's life? I couldn't remember. And, frankly, wasn't particularly bothered by the fact. I haven't survived this long because of sparing lives mercifully.

“No” I replied to Lee's suggestion “I've got a better idea. Instead of just killing him, we shall _destroy_ him.”

“What do you mean?” the man asked and I could see I had his interest.

“I was thinking” I began “If George Washington was assassinated, but we somehow managed to find the killer and publicly execute him...”

“You want a public execution? For the Assassin?” Lee asked “Why complicate it so much?”

 _Because I have to save his skin and somehow escape the suspicion of having done so_ , I thought. I had tried to figure out how to achieve it. I couldn't simply let Connor out of his cell. I was the only person who had access to his prison and it would be far more difficult for me to prove that I had nothing to do with it.

A public execution however would be a crowdy enough event to hide my participation in his escape, if I played this right. It could also serve another purpose.

“We can use his death” I replied “If he is found guilty of, let's say, _treason_ – and  we'll see to it that he is – all those who are allied with him as well as the whole Brotherhood will lose their credibility. We can get rid of everything the Assassins have built. Of their influence on the revolution. Eliminate them from this war and clear our path.”

My elaborate plan, created more in order to justify this means of getting rid of Connor than anything else, seemed a bit farfetched as I said it out loud and for a moment I feared that Lee may question its rationality. But I was mistaken (of course). Not Lee. His unconditional trust in me made me feel guilty for taking advantage of him. _One last time_ , I said to myself.

“Furthermore” Lee added “Putting him on the scaffold will lure away any possible, suspicions towards Thomas and the Order.”

“Exactly” I nodded “And if _you_ were the one who brings the murderer to justice...”

“Well, it certainly won't harm my reputation” Lee smirked with satisfaction.

“Precisely”

“Now, all we need to do is pull Thomas out of prison.”

“Oh, that”

Perhaps I forgot to mention the small, relatively unimportant event that occurred about two months ago, when Thomas Hickey was found guilty of counterfeiting money and placed in Bridewell Prison.

Neither I nor Charles (or Ben Church for that matter) had any illusions regarding our fellow associate. He was a sworn Templar, of course, but he lacked larger image. I don't suspect he cared much about changing the world or chasing the traces of the Precursors. Not all members of the Order do, sadly. But Thomas Hickey was useful. The man was more clever than he looked and his deceptive appearance was another one of his assets. And he had many a friend in different social strata. It was mostly them to whom we owed being so well-informed.

Yet, as I said, it wasn't the higher purpose that made Thomas serve the Order with such devotion. It was profit. And at some point during last year he started looking for it outside our legal enterprises. Who knows, maybe seeing that the Colonial Rite may soon lose its power and influence thanks to the Assassins, he started making preparations in case he had to evacuate from the sinking ship? As I said, he was clever.

But not clever enough not to get caught. When we heard that Hickey was placed in Bridewell Prison, Charles's first instinct was to rush to our comrade's aid. I stopped him, however, arguing that the imprisonment may have some educational value for our friend. The Templar Order didn't support the illegal business of their members and definitely not one as useless, petty and driven by avarice. Therefore, I hoped that a couple of months in gaol will be enough for Hickey to learn his lesson.

“Does Washington know about Hickey's arrest?” I asked, finishing my tea.

“I'd say he has more important things to worry about at the moment” Lee shrugged “I made sure that Hickey's apprehension wasn't publicized and that someone will fill up for him in Washington's guard. So I don't think the general misses him much. After all, no man is irreplaceable, as Louis the XIV said after the death of Louis the XIII.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“I’m not convinced he did. But I see that you're quite in the mood today, Charles” I pointed out.

Lee snickered.

“We're about to get rid of our two biggest problems. You can't blame me for enjoying that fact.”

“Indeed, I can't” I got up “Shall we go?”

 

_iii_

 

Ride to the prison took us less than an hour. The crowd on the streets of New York made it impossible for us to ride side by side, thus prevented us from engaging in any conversation. Charles rode first and I was pleased to notice that most people stepped out of his way, greeting him respectfully.

I took that as a good sign. Washington may have been chosen by the Continental Congress. But Charles candidacy for the General will be supported by the people. After all, the soldiers and the civilians alike could already see what both leaders were made of and they already esteemed Lee’s go-ahead attitude.

 _Apparently, Charles's optimistic mood is contagious,_ I concluded.

Having arrived at the prison, we walked straight to the prison governor’s office, Charles stepping before me, due to the fact that this time he was the more important one. He was, after all, one of the most renowned generals of the Continental Army and me? I was merely an unrecognisable guest. This caused me to smirk discreetly. It was interesting to, just for once, be the person no one paid much attention to.

Arranging for Hickey's release didn't cause Charles much trouble, thanks to his rank as well as a generous bail he paid. A few minutes later, we were already on our way to our colleague's cell.

In spite of us not undertaking any steps to free Hickey sooner than necessary, Lee mercifully arranged for him to stay in conditions more comfortable than those of ordinary prisoners who weren't lucky enough to have friends in high places.

We got there and the warden opened the massive door.

“Vacation over, Thomas!” Lee called “Time to get to work!”

Thomas stomped out of his cell, glaring at us. Apart from a certain uncleanness of his person and clothing (which wasn't far worse than usual, truth be told) he didn't seem severely tried by the prison life. He looked alright and well and not even particularly starved.

“Didn't miss me much, did you, eh?” he grumbled “I've been rotting in here for months.”

“You made your bed, Thomas” I replied coldly “You should be grateful that you won't be here for the next... what? Year? Two?”

“Thank you” Hickey hissed.

“That's the spirit” I said, turning around and walking towards the exit “You can spend the night in our headquarters. Tomorrow... you'll have errands to run.”

“Grand” Thomas replied sarcastically “Just what I wanted to hear. I take it you'll want me to pay our friend a visit.”

“Precisely” I nodded “Lee will organise your return to the guard and in the morning you'll be on your way.”

Hickey didn't respond and I couldn't see his reaction, but I doubt he was overmuch pleased with the prospect. And I can't say I sympathised with him much. We all had our roles in this. It was time for Thomas Hickey to play his.

 

_iv_

 

It wasn't until the late evening when the pain finally seized me.

It felt as if my sense has been stupefied since yesterday and now finally became wide awake. Like a wound that doesn't start to ache up to the point when the adrenalin wears off and the whole amount of pain slams into one's mind, blinding and hurting twice as much because of the shock.

After having dealt with Hickey, I left him and Charles at our abode across the town and returned to my place alone. Having walked inside the hallway, I hesitated, glancing towards the stairs to the basement. Something in me wanted to go down there, give Connor one more chance...

But I didn't. I went upstairs and when I closed the door to my room, it happened.

All of it, the past years, Ziio, Connor, memories of her, of them, these ~~feelings~~ things Ziio made me feel for her and the boy, all of it slammed into me, forcing me to sit heavily on the chair and bury the face in my hands in a silly attempt to hide from it all.

I lost them both. It couldn't ever turn out any other way.

We can never be a family. We never could. Too many things divide us. Death, for one. A border no one could pass. And Connor... Connor was brought up in hatred for the Order and me and fed with promises of revenge. He couldn't see through it.

I understand now that what I felt before wasn't frustration with Connor or anger at Ziio or guilt for betraying the Order. Not only, anyway. I could see that they were overshadowed by pain. Pure, unbearable pain.

Ziio told me about the boy, talked about him, making me feel as if I knew him. As if I almost cared about him.

But _he_ didn't know _me_. He was scared of me, he was angry, incensed with me, he blamed me for destroying his life. He hated me. I doubt I can change it.

And Ziio... she was convinced that merely with good intentions I could overcome that. She genuinely believed that the fact of us being a family will somehow make centuries of strife not matter. But she was wrong. Family isn't enough.

And I had to put an end to this farce. The sooner her son is out of the picture, the better.

I fulfilled my first promise to Ziio. Now, I intend to keep the second one.


	10. 3rd July 1776

_i_

 

On the first of July, I received a letter form Thomas Hickey. Two days before that we'd sent him to Manhattan, where George Washington has been residing since May, together with some of his commanders, in a mansion known as Richmond Hill.

To help Thomas flit through the city, we used the system of underground passages that we've been exploring (and expanding) since we first arrived in the city.

Me and Charles bid Hickey goodbye before the exit a mile or two away from his destination, beneath the New York suburbs. Our friend was leaving on his mission armed as heavily as discreetly. He was equipped with the standard munition of the Continental Army soldiers – a musket with a bayonet and a saber (alright, being honest few of these ragtag recruits was fortunate enough to possess even this modest equipment) – as well as a couple of throwing knives, a dagger and a pistol. Safely hidden were some less “fair” weapons, including a vial or two of cyanide and a grenade. Obviously, we strongly advised Hickey against using the latter.

When it was time to part, Thomas dismissed our last words of advice with a wave of his hand.

“It's not the first time I'm doing this” he winked “I did lived a big part of my life in Boston. I know how to get rid of people. I'll send a word as soon as I'm done.”

“Good luck, lad” Charles said, while Hickey opened the exit and jumped out.

“I make my own luck” Thomas responded.

First as a joke, some of the younger members of the Order began to repeat this catchphrase to the point when they started doing it unconsciously and irritatingly frequently.

The promised word from Hickey came to me two days later, in the morning. The letter said as follows:

 

_To Haytham Kenway_

_I regret to inform you that on 29 th of June our dearly beloved Chief-Commander, staying at the time at Richmond Hill died tragically in a fire that unexpectedly broke out in the middle of the night. May he rest in peace._

_I shall return to town as soon as possible. My return will be delayed due to the fact that I have to take care of a wounded maid, who suffered in the accident, and help her get home safely._

_May the Father of Understanding guide us._

_T.H._

I rolled my eyes at the mocking flourishes that Hickey placed in his message, but I was overall pleased with the news it contained.

Washington is dead.

And I couldn't help but feel malicious satisfaction with the _way_ he died. True, fire wasn't the most subtle way to deal with the task Hickey was given, and it was risky too if someone saw him, not to mention the fact that the mansion wasn't far enough from other estates, so help could still arrive on time... but Washington got what he had coming and I trusted Hickey's judgment and sense. In this particular case, of course. He knew that his position and probably life depended on whether he was able to deal with the General not only successfully, but also without being discovered. And if he came to the conclusion that fire was the best option, then it probably was. And how ironic the chosen means of getting rid of the General were... poisoning Washington wouldn't be nearly as satisfying as _this._

I focused back on the message. It proved that our faith in Hickey's cleverness, or at least his sobriety of mind, wasn't misplaced. The man addressed the letter to me, not to Charles or both of us, so if the message got into the wrong hands there would be no way to connect it with Lee. Furthermore, Hickey didn't say anything that could raise suspicions of him being the arsonist. He liked to brag and when he gets back we will no doubt get an exciting, exaggerated report from Hickey's mission, but here, he made sure there were no confidential, incriminatory data.

I moved on to the second paragraph, which was still a tad vague. I frowned, trying to figure out its meaning. “Take care of a wounded maid”? And “help her get home safely”? That was puzzling. I wondered whether it was some sort of a riddle. Was a “wounded mid” some kind of a cipher? If so, I was not familiar with it. I dismissed the idea of taking this part literally. Thomas wasn't the kind of person who'd look after others and even if he'd suddenly decided to display such kindness to an injured woman, he wouldn't have written to me about it. Deciding to ravish said “wounded maid” seemed more like Thomas, but, once more, he definitely wouldn't write to me about _that_. Plus, he was fully aware of the urgency and importance of his mission. He was a philanderer, yes, but he knew when it was time to be serious.

I drummed my fingers against the desk, deep in thought. Something important delayed Thomas. Important enough for him to decided to mention it in his letter, a letter that might have gotten into wrong hands, so he couldn't have said it outright.

_Taking care_. Even without seeing Thomas's cunning smile I sensed the rather unpleasant tone of this. It sounded more as if Hickey wanted to make sure she _doesn't_ get home safely. As if he intended to... finish her?

I raised an eyebrow. _Was that it?_ I thought. If Hickey was chasing down a woman... Right now I could think of only one reason why he'd want to do that. She must have discovered his plot. Maybe she caught him doing something suspicious? I winced. I'd rather it were a clean job. No witnesses, but also no useless corpses of bystanders and innocent civilians.

I shrugged. Well, it was an unavoidable casualty. If that was the price ~~I~~ we had to pay for Washington's death, then it was reasonable.

“Well done, Thomas” I muttered..

Having received the confirmation of stage one of our scheme going according to plan, it was time to put into effect the second one.

It consisted of two parts: Charles was to spread the word among his soldiers, that Washington is dead and the killer was caught red-handed (although, unfortunately, too late to save the poor General's life) and I went to the press with the previously prepared announcement, stating the time and place of the traitor's execution. While preparing the article we didn't forget to add a short note in which we mentioned that the convict was previously cooperating with Samuel Adams' organization in Boston. And, obviously, the note clarified who caught the Assassin.

We managed to do all this in less than a day. The remains of Richmond Hill haven't even cooled off yet as the scaffold was built on one of the New York's marketplaces.

Charles and I arranged the event. After all no one could just randomly set up a scaffold wherever and whenever they pleased and start hanging people on it.

While dividing tasks I saw to it that finding the executioner was _my_ job. Needless to say, I wasn't going to hire any. Charles of course wasn't going to know about it, but this time, I would be the executioner. Or, more accurately, the never-be executioner. I was simply going to go backstage for this show. I did it once before, but now I was also going to perform on the stage.

 

_iii_

 

Thomas joined us on the eve of the execution. I'd already briefed Lee on the contents of Hickey's letter as well as my assumption as to what the second part was supposed to mean.

Thomas confirmed my suspicion.

After he's arrived in our headquarters, Lee sent a messenger to fetch me and less than an hour later, I joined my colleagues.

Having entered the room, I saw Hickey lounged on the sofa with a bottle of whiskey in his hand. Lee was pacing to and fro in front of the buzzing fire. Despite the fact that, unlike Hickey, he wasn't the one who's just performed a hazardous coup, Charles seemed more nervous than the other man. Taking a closer look at Thomas, I noticed that one of his sleeves and the right side of his uniform were seared, even charred at places. Additionally the man had an ugly cut on his left cheek. _Thin and shallow, harmless, but might leave a barely visible scar_ , I judged.

I decided that he finally deserves to hear some words of appreciation from me. He earned it.

“The Order is grateful for your sacrifice, Thomas” I said graciously. “You did very well.”

Hickey waved his hand flippantly, but I noticed a smug look on his face, which proved that he was more pleased with my approbation than he showed.

“No biggie” he took a gulp from the bottle “I assume you'd like to hear the whole story.”

“Why, of course!” Lee exclaimed.

“Please, do share.”

And so Hickey told us about how he got to Richmond Hill and relieved the soldier who had taken his place. Thomas decided to act that very evening. We learned that arson wasn't his first means of choice. Initially, he intended to use the more subtle cyanide. This would have worked out neatly, if it hadn't been for the clumsiness of one of the maids, who accidentally toppled and spilled the beverage which contained the deadly poison.

“Her name was Fanny or Phoebe or whatever. Now, see, she was a problem” Hickey said, frowning. “For I'm pretty sure she glimpsed me fixing Washington's drink, now that I think about it. Then, I assumed she knocked it over unwittingly, but now... she must have known.”

“So what did you do?” Lee asked. “And what did _she_ do? Did she tell anyone?”

“It didn't look like it and at first that made me think she didn't know what she saw and suspected nothing” Hickey replied. “But then I noticed she was watching me. Especially around the General. Once or twice I could swear I glimpsed her spying on me.”

“And then you decided to burn down the house?”

“No one will notice if there ain't nobody to notice” Thomas winked, grinning unpleasantly “I decided to get rid of Washington and her and anyone she may of talked to, since I couldn't be sure if she didn't snitched on me to someone from the household or the guard. Plus, the fire could look like an accident.”

“An you're certain that Washington died?” I asked with emphasis. “You made sure he is dead? From what I could gather you were quite busy after setting the house ablaze.”

“Aye” Hickey made a face “I locked all the doors and stairs of the highest floor, where Washington was staying, but the girl must of been at the time at some of the lower floors and got out. I had to pursue her.”

“And?” Lee raised his eyebrows. “Did you find her?”

“Oh, I found her, alright. I managed to... silence her, even though, as you can see” Hickey pointed to his wound in a theatrical gesture. “It wasn't as easy as it might sound.”

“Damn it, Thomas” I hissed, before I managed to stop myself. “ _A woman_?”

“A threat” Hickey growled “You know I had to do it, Haytham. You would of done the same.”

His words struck me unexpectedly. Since I received the letter from Thomas, the fact that he had to kill an innocent woman – a witness but still – didn't bother me much... However for some reason now when I heard him speaking of it, that didn't seem right. Once upon a time, I despised the man who killed innocent men, women and children merely because they weren't convenient for him. I later killed that man, with a considerable amount of satisfaction. Now, we appear to have reached the same point as him.

Have we though? The woman's death wasn't pointless. Killing her Hickey made sure that she wouldn't threaten his mission. He sacrificed her life for a higher purpose. It wasn't pleasant, but it was necessary. For the greater good. For the greater good we have to do whatever it takes.

~~What if it takes too much~~

_After all_ , I realized, _she wasn't the only one who forfeit the life there. The fire must've claimed its victims as well_. From what I understood, ways out of the house were left unlocked so some might have gotten away, but... How many corpses were there, beside Washington's?

I cleared my head of these thoughts. This would lead me nowhere.

“You're right, Thomas” I nodded “I'm glad you dealt with that matter.”

“So, back to Washington” Lee said “Are you certain he's dead?”

“Fairly certain, yeah.”

“ _Fairly_ certain may not be enough” I pointed out a bit more harshly then I intended.

“Fairly certain is the best you'll get” Hickey snapped.

I looked at him coldly.

“Grand Master” Hickey added respectfully (or, at least, it would have sounded respectfully had he tried harder)

“I dropped by Richmond Hill... or what's left of it on my way back. There were survivors and there were bodies. George Washington wasn't among the survivors.”

“But are you sure...” Lee began, but Thomas interrupted him:

“Those were burned bodies, Charles. You wouldn't recognize your own mother if she was laying there.”

Silence fell. I could tell that Lee, like me was estimating the odds that Washington made it out alive. Except right now, it was pointless. We couldn’t withdraw ]. We had to take the risk.

“I think we can assume that the mission was a success” I said calmly. “Thomas, you deserve a rest. You needn't be present at tomorrow's event, it's better if you stay here. Lee will look after everything.”

“And you, Haytham?” Charles frowned, turning towards me.

“I'll go to Boston” I lied swiftly “Make sure the news is spread. I know you'll take care of matters here.”

“I will, sir” Lee replied earnestly.

“So be it, then. Charles, Thomas” I nodded towards both of my colleagues, bidding them goodbye and left.

 

_iv_

 

And so the day came.

Charles sent four men to bring Connor to the site where the planned execution was to take place. While they were doing so, I began my own preparations.

Not that there were that many of them to be done.

The previous evening I rented a small room in one of the second-rate inns in central New York. Close to the place where the execution was supposed to take place, but by one of the narrower, less attended streets and not particularly exposed. And not particularly clean, as I learned, having arrived in my new lodge. It suited my needs perfectly. Thanks to the low standard of the place, it was anything but packed with guests, therefore sneaking in or out unnoticed would be a piece of cake, especially for someone who knew a thing or two about sneaking into places.

I didn't bother with making myself at home. I just took out a pack of newly purchased – but far from new – garments, which resembled the typical outfits worn usually by executioners. Due to the fact that it always included something to obscure the face, I could easily avoid getting recognized.

The costume was ready. Now, it was time for my props. I took out a coil of rope and quickly tied a neat noose. How fortunate I was that the executioners were obliged to bring their own ropes. It made things much easier for me.

I laid the tied end of the rope on the table and took out my blade. Carefully, I began sawing the line a couple of inches above the noose. I previously soaked the rope in a mixture of tallow and oil to prevent it from shredding and exposing the place of the cut.

I continued sewing until only few, thin fibers were keeping the rope together. I picked it up and looked at my handiwork critically. That ought to do, I pronounced. Connor was no weakling and I was certain that his weight, full amount of which I could experience myself, would be enough to rip the rope apart. And when it did and Connor was free, all I'd have to do was to cover his escape from the site. After he's out of there, he's on his own.

The execution was supposed to take place at eleven and by that hour I should have already had everything prepared at the venue. Therefore, I left early, taking an indirect route and entering the place from the side opposite to the direction of my current place of residence. Just to be safe.

Despite the site being already very crowded, it was going to become even more so when the hour nears. When I got there and climbed up the scaffold to fix the rope and perform other necessary preparations, we still had almost an hour left until the show begins.

Having finished arranging my stage, I leaned against one of the poles supporting it and started observing the jolly crowd. I tried to conceal my disdain noticing that entire families were gathered here. Men with their wives and offspring, holding the smaller children in their arms so that they too could see the scaffold and what was about to happen on it. There were friends greeting cordially and laughing at each other's jokes. I could glimpse a couple of mobile stalls with snacks and beverages. How festive.

Yet again, I could witness how utterly primeval and thoughtless the society was. Bloodthirsty. Passive and unwilling to fight for their, oh so coveted freedom, yet enjoying someone else's death. I doubt even half of them knew what the convict was accused of. I doubt it made any difference for them. Thief, murderer, traitor, all the same. And _they_ thought themselves better than the British. The evil, oppressive Brits. And _they_ thought themselves better then the Natives, whom they viewed as primeval and barbaric.

I shook my head. That was silly. After all, that's why ~~we~~ I wanted to organize the whole event. To take advantage of death luring people like moths to a flame. Perhaps I was a bit biased, due to the fact that once I was the one who was to die such a humiliating death in front of a crowd.

With such thoughts I whiled the time away, waiting for the convoy to arrive. When it did, just as I expected the place was bursting at the seams. I could also see faces in the windows of the buildings surrounding the market.

_Quite nice a turnout_ , I thought. Charles did a good job.

The guards led Connor to the platform, slowly enough for the audience to satiate themselves with his sight. The Assassin walked calmly, with his head lifted proudly, ignoring the insults and mockery that could be heard from the people he passed. I grated my teeth, feeling unreasonably angry. _Vultures. Even if he was an idiot, the boy was worth more than the rabble surrounding him._ Charles strode proudly before him. When they climbed the scaffold, I placed a linen sack on Connor's head and led him to the noose. While I was busy positioning it around the Assassin's neck and adjusting it, Charles stepped forward and developed the previously prepared speech in which he made sure it was clear to everyone what circumstances brought the convict to the scaffold and for what crimes he was about to be punished.

Taking advantage of the fact that the audience attention was focused solely on Lee, I opened the hidden blade and quickly cut bonds with which Connor's hands were tied behind his back. The silent “cling!” of the unlocking blade made Connor tilt his head.

“Be ready to run” I hissed in his ear. “When the trapdoor drops”

The Assassin flinched slightly. For a second, I wondered whether he recognized my voice. Part of me wished that he did, I admit. I wanted him to be aware of the fact that that I kept my word, despite everything that occurred between us.

I realized that Charles has finished talking and was stepping off the platform. Without further ado, I walked quickly to the lever that released the trapdoor and pulled it.

Connor fell down and I heard the barely audible sound of the rope snapping. The Assassin disappeared under the wooden platform and a second later he emerged from the side, throwing away the sack that he'd ripped off his head and darting towards one of the streets leading out of the market.

For a few seconds the crowd stood still, as if petrified. The back rows probably weren't even aware that something went wrong, which helped Connor a great deal, since before people realized what was going on and attempted to stop him, he was already gone from their sight.

Obviously, I didn't just stand there admiring my plan working out perfectly. When Connor vanished below the scaffold, I quickly jumped to the ground at the back of it and started making my way through the people gathered there, who glanced at me suspiciously. I managed to leave the place without much difficulty.

Having disappeared from the site, I crept through the narrow backstreets, making sure that I'm not being followed. When I was certain that no one was after me, I dumped my disguise into some broken barrels, piled by a dingy building. Taking the indirect route once more, I headed back to the inn.

Walking inside I was already as calm as if I had just taken a pleasant morning walk, instead of saving a convicted criminal from the noose. I nodded politely to the innkeeper and went upstairs to my room.

When I closed the door after me, I lean against it and took a deep breath.

“And so, I kept my end of the bargain” I said towards the empty room, partially to myself, ~~partially to~~

No. There was only me.


	11. 6th July 1776

_i_

George Washington is alive.

How, we're not sure yet.

The fact remains that while he was supposed to be a pile of ash, he appeared inside the Congress building in Philadelphia alive and well. With a few burns, yes, but none of them as serious as they were supposed to be. And they were supposed to be deadly.

Having majestically swaggered inside (well, at least that's how the newspapers describe it, I personally hope his entrance looked more like crawling leaving a blood track behind), he honored the amazed gathering by signing the freshly enacted Declaration of Independence, with dozens of those who'd heard of his alleged tragic decease gazing at him in awe. If that wasn't enough, John Hancock from Massachusetts, the President of the Continental Congress, shedding tears of joy, handed him the quill with which he was about to sign the document as the first one and insisted on Washington having such privilege to celebrate his “resurrection”.

The undead, legendary, damn fireproof general then proceeded to return to his troops to take back the command, as the newspapers happily announced.

To say I was furious would be an understatement. But even my anger paled compared to Charles's madness. Not only did he lost the command that was finally at his fingertips, not only did he have to watch the man he hated triumph, not only did he make a fool of himself by bringing the supposed “killer” to justice, but also now he was forced to join all the other officers in their common joy and celebration at the miraculous revival of their beloved General.

Since Lee had to contain himself while in public, he had to let off steam in the headquarters, usually by finding someone to yell at. Not me, obviously. But someone who was far more easy a target was within his reach.

When Charles first met with Hickey after the news spread, I genuinely thought he was going to kill him. The quarrel that broke out at that moment is simply unsuitable to quote. There was a significant amount of shouting as well as cursing on both sides. At one point, Lee threw a half empty bottle of brandy at Thomas. The boy dodged it and when the bottle shattered on the wall, merely a feet or two away from my face, I decided it was high time to step in.

“Enough. Charles” I said commandingly.

Lee glared at my with madness in his eyes.

“He ruined everything!” he exclaimed in a hoarse voice, pointing at Thomas an, despite the seriousness of situation, I thought that at that moment he bore strong resemblance to a little child, who'd just had his tower made of blocks destroyed.

“We had him! _WE HAD WASHINGTON!_ ” Charles kept shouting “And that failure jeopardized all we're working for! He had one simple task and this worthless sack of dung managed to screw this up!”

“Language, Charles” I replied coldly “Get a hold of yourself, man.”

“It all went to Hell, Haytham!” Lee growled, though in significantly calmer manner “He won't lower his guard now. We lost everything, thanks to this lobcock!”

“Well, maybe you should of volunteered, _Master_ Lee” Hickey hissed “Instead of sitting on your ass, letting everyone do the dirt work and then take credit for everything.”

Charles's face went red.

“You pathetic son of a...”

“Gentlemen, please” I interrupted once more (although using the term _gentlemen_ seemed more like an expression of wishful thinking, for those who were with me in this room were anything but) “We're all upset and angry, but throwing insults at each other is pointless. Keep it together.”

Somehow their anger, equal or even lesser than mine, helped me to remain calm, even though everything in me screamed in powerless fury. All I wanted to do now was to go to the General and cut his head off. Watch him, watch the man who foiled my plans too many times die in front of me.

But I didn’t let the anger blind me. We couldn't have a headquarters full of livid men, running around, yelling at each other and throwing tantrums all over the place.

“How could this happen?” I asked calmly “How did he get away?”

“I told you, I was gone for half a day, when the house burned” Hickey grunted, still scowling at Charles “He must of gotten out then and escaped.”

“Splendid” Lee drawled “First the Assassin, now this.”

I flinched slightly. So far, the question of how come the “executioner” I hired helped the Assassin to flee hasn't been asked, though I suspected it won't be long until it is. I already had the story ready – of how the Brotherhood allies must have bribed him to free their man – however I'd rather not be forced to use it. The sooner this web of lies gets untangled, the better.

“Well, at least this time, it wasn't my fault” Hickey replied to Charles's statement, apparently unable to stop himself “It was you who let him go, _Master Lee_.”

I sighed quietly, seeing that my comrades were about to start their row all over again.

“That's enough, both of you” I said sharply “There's no use in blaming each other. You should go back to your positions now. Charles, return to your troops. Thomas – back to Washington's guard. But be careful. Make sure you're still... welcome there.”

“Aye” Thomas nodded, apparently glad that I was sending him away from Charles.

“If you can, try to find out how did Washington get out.”

Hickey nodded once more, standing up and heading towards the door.

“Oh, and one more thing, Thomas” I stopped him “Fail again and you'll wish you'd stayed in Bridewell.”

I could see anxiety in Hickey's eyes for a brief moment, before he walked out.

“He should be excluded from the Order, if you ask me.” Lee drawled.

“I do not” I said dryly “And you forget, he's useful.”

“Very useful, indeed.”

“He can easily get close to Washington.”

“ _Very useful, indeed._ ”

I sighed.

“Truth is, if we get rid of Thomas, our ranks will get dangerously depleted. And this time we won't be able to blame the Assassin for it. We can't afford that. We need every man we have. Even Hickey.”

“Recently, he may have been a bigger nuisance then the Assassin.” Charles muttered.

“And let's hope it stays that way. As long as his failures don't kill anyone who we don't want killed, I'd rather deal with Hickey's irresponsibility than the Assassin's blade.”

I knew that for a few days we needn't worry about Connor. Having had his armor and weapons – a lot of weapons – taken from him, he was forced to return to the Homestead, at least to arm and plan his next move.

Meanwhile, I decided to take advantage of the fact that I could have a closer look at his clothing and armament. Studying the bow, which, as far as I knew, wasn't a typical Assassin weapon, I recalled when I myself tried to master archery a long time ago. Or, rather, when Ziio tried to teach me that...

The influx of bittersweet memories discouraged me from further examination of Connor's belongings. Apart from the bow and the tomahawk, it was standard Assassin munition. I glanced jealously at the two hidden blades.

I hesitated for a second. Why not? I thought. I took the left blade and affixed it on my own forearm. It's not as if I was going to return it to Connor anytime soon. Finders keepers.

“That's better” I said, trying out the blade.

I packed the rest of the outfit to the trunk and placed it at the bottom of the wardrobe in my room.

 

_ii_

 

My remark about our ranks melting and Hickey being needed appeared most ironic in the light of the revelations that the afternoon brought in the form of a letter from Benjamin Franklin.

We were more fortunate than we initially expected to have made Franklin's acquaintance and kept in touch with him for all these years. His wide knowledge of many subjects as well as his voyages to Europe allowed to widen the Colonial Rite's knowledge and the extent of its influence. Moreover, Franklin was one of the two Templar associates that were chosen as representatives to the Continental Congress (next to John Adams from Massachusetts), therefore he could provide us with firsthand account from the event.

It turned out to be more interesting than I could imagine.

_To Grand Master Haytham Kenway_

_Philadelphia, July 4 th 1776,_

_Dear Sir,_

_I hope this letter finds You in good health. I am writing to You on the first day of the new era (whether or not this idea appeals to You, it is, undeniably, a new era). We have reached the point of no return. We're fighting for a country of our own now. I trust the Declaration will finally prompt these colonists who are still sitting on the fence to choose their side. Thomas Jefferson from Virginia made sure the document sounds nobly enough (not to self-praise, but I did help to choose the right words) and soon all states from Maine to Georgia will know its contents._

_But, that is not what I intended to write about. As You may have learned from the newspapers, Chief-Commander, who we'd been mourning for the past few days, unexpectedly appeared at the Congress. What the newspapers do not mention is that he was not the only guest whose arrival we had not anticipated. No sooner had the representatives finished greeting George Washington, a Native man burst in. To my surprise, he turned out to be an acquaintance of Samuel Adams and John Hancock from Massachusetts. The man (Connor, his name was, from what I gathered) surprised everyone with the news that General Washington apparently fell victim to a_ coup fourre _, as they would say in France, organized by one of your subordinates – Mr. Thomas Hickey. He also claimed that General Charles Lee was engaged in this undertaking as well._

_Now, Master Kenway, You know I have never seeked the knowledge of the Order's affairs that are not publicized. I support Your cause and I respect You, yet, as a patriot and a representative in Congress, I feel inclined to express my disapproval at such radical means as an assault on George Washington's life (if what that Indian said is true, and I do hope it is not)._

_I cannot vouch for what the generalship will do regarding Mr. Hickey, however I am afraid that his future (or, at least, position) is unsure. You ought to warn him to be careful. I do not suppose General Lee is in as much peril. So far he has done nothing that could indicate his disloyalty and it is just some Native's word against his._

_As I said, do be careful, Master Kenway. Our collaboration has been utterly successful and I would not want to see it come to an end. Neither do I wish to see the Order fail._

_May the Father of Understanding guide You._

_Your obedient servant,_

_B.Franklin_

 

When I finished reading the letter, I stared at it, frozen, for a couple of seconds, trying to process the news. Then my thought started galloping.

Yet again, my thoughtlessness endangered one of my men. Hickey could lose his life, because I underestimated Connor and his impudence. Lee was in danger too, although so far the Assassin had nothing to prove his guilt... maybe except for Charles's participation in “capturing” the reputed killer.

Hickey, however... Washington must remember that Thomas was a member of his guard. Additionally, one of the few (very few) survivors that escaped from the mysteriously ignited fire.

It took me merely a couple of seconds to come to this conclusion and no sooner had I done so, I was already running out of the house and heading to he stable. I hesitated only for a moment, considering whether or not I still had time _._ The letter was sent the very same day that Washington learned of Hickey's alleged betrayal. Any letter with orders sent from him probably arrived today, just as Franklin's message did. But if the General sent a messenger, it was too late. For Hickey, anyway.

Which is why I made the decision to warn Lee first. Technically, he was at lesser risk, but on the other hand, if he were to lose his position, it'd be a far more crushing blow for the Order. Plus he, not knowing the whole situation, was likely to intercede for Hickey, which would raise suspicions, thanks to Connor's input. Washington may trust Lee, but he's no idiot (that is, not _as much_ of an idiot) and his trust wasn't unlimited.

And thus, I rode to Lee's quarters. He was surprised by my visit, which led me to the conclusion that either Hickey hasn't been arrested so far or the news of this event haven't reached Lee yet. I pondered briefly about how long will it take for the press to find out what was going on after signing the Declaration of Independence in the room where it happened. The news will spread quickly, which was another reason to keep Charles as far from the fuss as possible. We could afford losing Hickey (especially after his last failure) but Lee – not so much.

When I briefed him on what was going on, his first instinct (once more) was to get to Hickey as soon as possible and help him flee. Of course, this time, he wasn't driven by mere loyalty. When Hickey is being interrogated (and chances were he would be) he could give away our affairs and endanger Lee's career as well as life.

However, I stopped him.

“You cannot be seen anywhere near him” I argued “There can't be any trace that could lead to you or sign of any connection between you and Thomas.”

“So what do you suggest we do?” Lee asked “We can't let Washington lay his hands on him.”

“Indeed, we can't” I agreed “although, I'm not convinced if we still have the time to prevent it. Either way, you have to stay out of it. I'll try to get to Hickey.”

“What do you intend to do?” Lee inquired, following me outside “Extort him from an armed convoy?”

“Perhaps” I responded.

To be frank, I didn't know what I was going to do at the time. Obviously an armed convoy probably would be an unenforceable task, even for me. I was aware of the fact that when I arrive there, I'd have to do what I do not enjoy doing much – improvise.

 

 

_iii_

 

I was too late. When I arrived at Hickey's encampment, I learned that he was taken from his squad a few hours ago and by the time I came here, he was presumably safely locked up in prison. Once more.

The only luck we can speak of now is the fact that Hickey wasn't imprisoned in Bridewell, where some of the guards may have recalled that about a week ago, General Charles Lee himself bailed him out. That would have been the end of Hickey an Lee alike.

And thus another of my men was lost, thanks to the Assassin. Although he wasn't definitely lost... He'll probably get an honest trial and if he is as lucky as he frequently claims, he may be sentenced only to imprisonment. After all, there was no incriminatory evidence against him. And when he is back in the cell... well, there is no door that cannot be opened by an adequate sum of money. Or a lock pick. Obviously, Hickey won't be able to come back to his position... Which somewhat called his utility into question, come to think of it. But a living outcast is more useful than a dead private.


	12. 6th January 1778

_i_

 

One might think that my expecting things to become easier for me when I no longer have to worry about Connor and keeping him alive was fully justified. Yet, ever since I let him go things were most certainly not becoming easier. As a matter of fact, they were more difficult than ever.

Washington is still alive and bungling his fights over and over again, that's one. Letting the British take New York, then New Rochelle, abandoning fort Washington and fort Constitution (now known as fort Lee, though, obviously, this courtesy wasn't enough to tame Charles) and losing all cannons, missiles, muskets, bullets, tents, blankets and edibles stored there, getting thousands of his soldiers taken captive, losing the battles of Brandywine, Philadelphia and Germantown were only the most notable of Washington's failures. His strategy consists of running away, avoiding open combat and hiding, which is what he's currently doing at Valley Forge. His men are tired, sick and starved. No wonder that  another problem that the General is struggling with are mass desertions. I wish I could stand face to face with Connor, just to say “I told you so”. _The pride of Mount Vernon._ He's so fortunate that general Howe is against fighting the colonists and attempts to negotiate with the Americans. Otherwise, the fate of the outgunned, outmanned, outnumbered and outplanned Continental Army would be sealed and miserable. The situation on the north front didn't look much better, although the general leading the campaign there – Horatio Gates – has, unlike Washington, actually won a couple of significant battles against the British. Yet, nowhere did the future seem particularly bright for the patriots. Each year the main ally of the colonists was winter, which forced both sides to stop the warfare and focus on finding a place to wait out this time of the year.

Hickey, after a few weeks of imprisonment and a short, yet fair, trial, was finally executed. That's two.

When his fate still hadn't been decided yet, I somehow managed to conjure up enough optimism to hope that he would get away with this. However, while we were able to save him from answering for many charges, an attempt to murder George Washington wasn't one of them. It's a miracle he even _got_ a fair trial in the first place, seeing as half of Washington's subordinates would probably gladly beat Hickey to death with their bare hands without bothering themselves with taking the matters to the court.

Three: in December 1776, Lee was captured by the British. He's still imprisoned and more angry with Washington than ever. Notwithstanding, from what I gathered, he's treated well, and prefers to stay where he is, instead of by Washington's side, following his orders. Apparently he's getting on with the Howes better than with the American leaders.

Seeing as I've lost most of my friends – associates – it seemed fitting that I should value those who are still with me more than ever. And I do, in a way. Living are by far more valuable than the dead, so I am grateful that they're still around. Either way, we, the survivors should rely on each other and draw strength from being the only ones to still walk the Earth to fight our common enemy. But, to do that, we should _be able_ to rely on each other. And it just so happens that I am not.

Benjamin Church's betrayal (that's four) was so surprising, it took me a longer while to realize it. Although, come to think of it, I probably shouldn't be surprised. No man is incorruptible, everyone has something they can be bribed with, it's just the matter of finding it. Truth be told, I don't think it was much of a challenge in Benjamin's case.

I remember that this was the thing that stroked me when I first met him. He chose the medicine because in his opinion human's life was the most valuable merchandise there was. One that people would pay a fortune for. He openly claimed that he didn't become a medic because of the need to help the others or to do some good to this world. He did it because he knew that people's will to live will always provide him income.

When I heard this, I was taken aback and disgusted by his attitude. I was young and idealistic and ambitious and wanted to surround myself with men of bright minds and pure intentions and Church didn't fit this vision even nearly as much as I 'd like him to.

I realize that there is a possibility that none of my colleagues (or those who were still among the living recently) do. Charles is obviously as conscientious as he's always been. And ardent (maybe too ardent at times?). But he's hot-headed and proud. Too proud to just humbly follow Washington's orders and try to help the army – _his_ army. Still he is, and always has been, as devoted to the Order as one can be. But Hickey? Church?

Are these the men with which I am to defend the Order?

It appears that the years of glory have passed for the Colonial Rite, together with the men whom I was _proud_ to be able to call “brothers”.

Colonel George Monro – a man of honor, full of ideals and determined to make the world a better place was gone. Johnson, with his knowledge, intelligence and vast understanding of the Native culture – gone. Pitcairn – a good leader and a general of high rank in British army – gone. Shay Patric Cormac – out in Europe.

Obviously, I didn't just stand there, waiting for the whole old guard to die out. I wrote letters to possible recruits. I made new contacts. I seeked those who may help to ensure the safety of the Colonial Rite's future. Men like late Joseph Warren, who caught my attention a few months before the battle of Bunker Hill, in which he died. Best physician in the entire state, possibly in all of colonies. An honorable man, clever, educated and altruistic. The Order would have gained much had he lived and decided to become one of us. Or like that bright, loud-mouth _aide-de-camp_ of Washington's. Intellectual, decisive, a self-starter, already foreseeing the future after the war. He wrote a few pamphlets, under the name of “MC Publius”, which is how I found him and began exchanging letters with him. He will make a fine Templar one day, provided that he survives this Hell.

However, enlistment of new recruits isn't exactly the easiest thing right now. Men are too occupied with more urgent matters – war, independence, survival – to bother themselves with the future, let alone shaping it. No, I presume that the true influx of fresh blood is conditioned by war ending and we have to stay alive until then. For the time being I was left with men such as Thomas and Church.

I almost do not regret losing the first one. And I most certainly won't hesitate to get rid of the latter.

_ii_

 

It quickly turned out, that I was going to be forced to prove the truthfulness of my words. Following the old rule “ _ei incumbit probatio qui dicit, non qui negat”_ , I kept an eye on Church and, at last, any doubts about his disloyalty that I might had left were gone.

For more than a year, starting from 1774, Church had been sending messages to, none other, than general Thomas Gage himself. It took me an embarrassingly long time to discover this. In my defense, I can say that, while Hickey and Lee had been relatively close to me all that time and met or contacted me almost on a daily basis, then Church honored us with a letter very occasionally, even though he wasn't stationing this far from us, so supervision of his actions was less easy. Plus, I still managed to find out about this earlier than the colonist command.

That happened almost three years ago and was simultaneous with Pitcairn's attempts to nip the revolution in the bud, so at that time Church’s actions suited us, even though he chose not to inform us about them. Anywho, after one of his letters got intercepted by the patriots, Benjamin was thrown in jail, and later put under close supervision. When I managed to talk to Church at that time, I ordered him not to try anything like this ever again. Not only because he decided to pass important military information without informing me about it, let alone asking for my permission to take such purposeful steps, but also due to the fact that the tides were turning. The war could no longer be stopped, and the Order wouldn't be trying to hurt the colonist cause anymore – quite the opposite, it was going to help it and end the silly conflict as soon as possible, reducing the casualties on both sides and putting an end to the chaos of war.

When I expounded this to Church, he meekly agreed with me. I was convinced that, if not the stay in prison, then my authority as the Grand Master – Church's superior in the Order, which was prior to any of commanders in the army – would prohibit him from choosing to renew his contact with general Gage ever again.

And it did, in a way.

For now, Ben Church decided to try something even more audacious, which potentially will have a crushing effect on the Continental Army. Namely, my friend decided to steal the supplies (food, clothes, etc.) sent to the army, which currently resides in Valley Forge. Audacious, as I said, but ingenious, and very effective if it were to succeed. The soldiers were famished, sick, weakened, barefoot. These supplies may be the matter of surviving the winter or not for many of them.

I found out about it thanks to one of the men I assigned to help (and keep an eye on) Church, a few months ago. I was glad to discover that we make do without Hickey and his friends. Although, I couldn't ignore the fact that had I had Hickey's men at my disposal, I probably would have learned about Benjamin's affairs in advance, before he managed to put them into practice. I was denied such luxury now – for by the time my informer briefed me on what Church was up to, Benjamin had already stolen the supplies from their way to Valley Forge.

In order to find them and – more importantly – Benjamin Church – I was forced to simply track them down. Having inquired when and where their journey started ( I assumed that finding either Church or the cargo will lead me to discovering the other's whereabouts) I followed in their footsteps, relying mostly on information I managed to obtain from the residents of the towns and villages on the route.

At last, in one of the smaller towns the trace has gone cold. Well, not so much “gone cold”. But the carts that were to ride through the village less than two days earlier, haven't been spotted, neither then nor at all. And that was the clue I was searching for.

I turned back and rode the same road that had led me to the town, this time searching for any narrower, less frequented tracts. I ignored those leading west. There were rationales that led me to suspect, with a significant amount of certainty, that wherever Ben Church intended to take the supplies, the easiest way would be to do it by sea, so east paths, heading to the shore, were the most probable to be chosen.

Finally, I found a tract wide enough for a cart, loaded with supplies to ride. Odds were in my favor – it hasn't snowed since the caravan rode this way, so its traces (if they were its) were still clear. I followed them.

I rode for a few hours, and it began to get dark. I stopped my horse, took out a map and used the last daylight to locate my approximate location. I frowned. There were no towns or villages anywhere near me. The closest one was the one I'd visited earlier. I realized that I'd have to spend the night in the wild.

I led the horse off the trail, heading towards a tuft of coniferous trees, located about fifty yards from the road. They were far enough to obscure us from any possible travelers that may appear on the trail, but I could still see where the tract was, so I won't have trouble finding it tomorrow. My sense of direction, especially in as wild and monotonous terrain as this one, has always left a lot to be desired. I preferred to take no chances. Haytham Kenway, the man who lost ten tons of Continental Army supplies, because all trees around him looked the same and he got lost. No, thank you.

I shall continue my pursuit in the morning. The “shelter” I found myself for the night isn't ideal, but it'll do – the branches create a leaky, but sustainable roof, so the ground is relatively dry. I allowed myself a small fire, deciding that it'll be difficult to keep chasing Church when I'm frozen to death.

I hope to find him tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we all know what's going to happen tomorrow and I just can't wait :)


	13. 7th January 1778

 

_i_

 

I should have seen this coming. After all, I forgot that I may not be the only person pursuing Church.

I woke up early, next to the extinguished fire, resting against my horse's trunk. I couldn't feel my limbs, even though I went to sleep wearing a warm coat, wrapped in three layers of blankets, which I had providently packed, and snuggled against the mobile heater in the form of my horse, who graciously agreed to lay down for the night.

I was cold, numb, starving and smelled of horse.

“Hero's journey at its finest” I grumbled “I'm getting too old for this.”

I stood up and began stamping in place and rubbing my hands, forcing my body to wake up and start working properly. While I did so, my horse got up as well. He didn't seem to have suffered much because of the night spent in such pagan conditions.

The animal began to nibble the few blades of grass and I took out my own viands – dried meat and just a tad less dry bread – and quickly ate the modest breakfast, trying not to focus on its taste too much.

No sooner had the sun risen, I was already back on the track and on my way.

Trying not to push the horse too much, I rode in an even trot for the next few hours. I was slowly beginning to worry that I’d have to spend another night camping – it was well after noon and still no sign of me reaching my destination, or even getting close to it – when I glimpsed a building in the distance.

_Whether it's a village or a detached inn_ , I thought, c _hances are that the carts stopped here. Even if they were already gone, at least I'll manage to find out when they arrived here or where they were heading._ I also felt relief. Slim though it was, there was still a risk that I had chosen the wrong way that would lead me nowhere and the research I could conduct in the settlement before me would tell me whether my hunch was correct or not. Either way – put an end to this vexing uncertainty.

But when I reached the buildings, they failed my expectations, for they turned out to be merely an abandoned church (oh, the irony) and a few adjacent sheds. However, when I looked closer, I discovered that despite the lack of habitants, the buildings may give me some information after all.

Having left the horse behind a building located about a hundred feet from the road, which provided a neat cover for my palfrey, I headed to the church. Later, I thanked my caution.

Around the church there were signs that the place used to be a camp or other layover of sorts. There were a few black circles on the ground, indicating the places where fires were burned, together with footsteps and ruts showing clearly that a number of carts was here. My number of carts, I hoped.

I crept inside the building, instinctively using the shadows to hide. Although, in retrospect, seeing as I rode here on a horse, not trying to conceal my approach in any way, I might have as well not bothered to do so.

The church was vacant. There weren’t any decorations or something else that would suggest it's been recently visited by the believers. It was empty, except for obvious signs of a camp being set here not long ago. No sooner had I had a look about the interior of the building, I heard the sound of horse hooves on the trail.

I went toward the window, careful to remain obscured from the outside.

At first, I didn't recognise the character sitting in the saddle. When he got closer, however, I noticed a longbow strapped over his back. It was a rather unusual weapon for the colonists and I immediately thought of the one person I know who uses it.

“Connor” I whispered, unwittingly.

The lack of his customary Assassin attire (which has been resting safely at the bottom of my wardrobe in New York headquarters for almost two years) replaced by a typical frontiersman outfit combined with some leather clothing was at first misleading, but, as the rider neared, all doubts were gone. I was, yet again, facing Connor. And together with him – a dilemma.

I was certain he came here searching for the same thing I did. There weren't many other reasons why the two of us, of all people, would accidentally meet in this particular church, of all places. We were both after Benjamin.

_“If he stands in my way again, he'll die”_

That was my last promise. To Ziio, to the Order. To me. And right now I had the perfect opportunity to fulfil it. I had the high ground, the element of surprise. I could easily ambush and kill the Assassin without even engaging in an open combat. I could shoot him before he realizes he's not alone. _Who knows when will be the next time I come across such convenient a chance?_ I thought. It was a tempting vision.  Now that I've lost most of my men, getting rid of the Assassin would certainly even the odds. If Lee was in my place, he'd kill him without hesitation. If Reginald Birch was in my place, he would do so as well.

But I'm not Reginald Birch. I'm not Lee. I'm Haytham Kenway. I'm my father's son. To him I owe my ability to doubt and to hesitate in the face of situation such as this one.

Connor and I were after the same man. It seemed almost unreasonable to kill him now. That is, yes, his death would probably make many things easier for me in the future and I'd be forever unbothered by the problems that boy has been causing me since he came around and I probably should avenge my dead comrades... I smirked. When I killed him, Birch considered my _vengeance_ on him 'petty'. He'd be happy to learn that I may have finally grown out of such pettiness.

_For God’s sake, I should just kill him without thinking_. Why am I searching for excuses to keep him alive? He is an Assassin. For thousands of years, it went without saying that should one encounter a member of the Brotherhood, he should kill him _without thinking_.

But I am not very fond of doing things without thinking. This is the way of animals and morons and I highly value the ability to think independently and make my own choices.

_Still_...

I sighed in irritation. Things were supposed to be easier now. Why weren't they? My duties to the Order demanded to kill the Assassin right on sight, while my common sense filled my mind with doubts.

I stood by the window, hidden, frozen, paralyzed by my inability to decide what to do and Connor was getting closer and closer. I had to choose.

Suddenly, some new voice at the back of my mind spoke:

_What would Ziio want?_

I flinched, surprised. The thought appeared out of nowhere. It's been months, years even, since Ziio's possible opinion mattered to me. I think.

Unwittingly, I answered the question.

Ziio would want me to try to explain everything to him once more. Not to throw away my shot, which the fate has graciously bestowed on me again. To give her son a chance. And another, and another, a thousand chances if necessary.

_So what_ , I thought harshly in response to this. Ziio's not here and thank God, because if she were, she would be so disappointed in me...

I shook my head. _So what?!_ I repeated. I warned her what would happen if the boy gets in my way ever again.

But that was the problem. He wasn't getting in my way. We actually wanted the same thing, more clearly than ever. We were after the same man. Why do we have to fight if we can work together? Why should I kill him, if I could ally with him?

I snorted.

Because he is an Assassin and you're a Templar, that's why. You said it yourself a long time ago: “ _Assassins and Templars don't go well with each other. Every encounter must end in death_ ”

But I'm not just some Templar. And he's not just some Assassin. He's my son.

Some obtrusive voice in my head kept saying “ _You can prove to him that you were telling the truth. That you can be allies. He accused you of having nothing to show for your words, and now you can prove to him that you seek the same_.”

_I've already given him the chance once and how did that end?_

But that was two years ago. Maybe he grew up and got smarter.

I made my choice. I cursed myself silently for what I was going to do next.

Connor rode around the church and stopped his horse in front of it. I heard him speak to the animal some Mohawk words in a calming manner. I recalled how Ziio used to do the same thing when I was trying to teach her how to ride a horse.

I decided to stand where I stood. There weren't many hiding spots in the church, except for the entablature above us, but I decided against climbing up there. Jumping from above in front of Connor, shouting “surprise!” seemed like a good way to get nothing done.

Connor entered the church and I noticed him squinting his eyes, probably trying to accustom to the shady interior of the building.

“Good morning, Connor” I said loud and calmly.

The Assassin froze.

“ _You?!_ ” he gasped.

“It's customary to reply 'good morning' when one is being greeted, you know” I remarked.

In a matter of seconds the bow moved from Connor’s back to his hand as the boy aimed at my heart. I rolled my eyes.

“Fine, if that'll make you feel better” I said.

“What are you doing here?” Connor drawled “Church sent you?”

“What? No” I frowned “I send people places, not the other way around, lad.”

“You're his rearguard, aren't you? Making sure your stolen cargo gets wherever it's going safely.”

“No, I'm pursuing Benjamin Church” I replied.

I learned that short and forthright answers are the best way to communicate with Connor.

The Assassin lowered his bow slightly. It was a different weapon from the one he previously had. Smaller, probably of lesser draw weight. I guessed this one must have been bought from the colonists who live on the Frontier and probably still use them to hunt.

“What?” Connor asked, the surprise causing him to forget to use his dangerous tone.

“Order affairs. His betrayal, mostly” I shrugged.

“What did he do?”

I saw of no reason why I should keep it a secret. Right then, explaining why I was chasing Benjamin Church could only work to my advantage.

“He forgo of our principles in favour of his personal gain. Stealing the supplies is his way of achieving it. As I have already expounded to you during our last meeting, we wish to see the Continental Army succeed. Church decided that, apparently, working against us is more profitable. I intend to prove him wrong. Are my answers to your satisfaction?”

Connor lower his bow completely, but still held it drawn.

“Why should I believe you?” he asked.

“I have no reason to lie to you.”

“You could be trying to get me out of your way.”

“Trust me, s-... lad, if I wanted to get you out of my way, there are quicker and far more efficient ways of doing so.”

I flicked my wrist meaningly.

“Seeing as I didn't kill you the very moment you barged in here” I said “ I do not reckon you can question my good will. Do you?”

Connor frowned. That seems to be his response for most of the things I say.

“Look” I decided to get to the point “You want to return the supplies to the patriots, I want Church's head on a stick. We have the same goal.”

“And?” Connor asked and his frown deepened (if it was even possible) but I could see he was beginning to understand what I was getting at.

“I propose a truce” I replied “And an alliance. We can work together to get to Church and your supplies.”

“You'd kill one of your own?”

“God, no. But I won't hesitate to kill a traitor.”

“Why?”

“As a punishment? As a warning? Also, to cut short whatever he's plotting?”

“No, I mean why do you want to cooperate with me?” the Assassin was looking at me agog.

“Mostly because it's easier to deal with you when you're not openly acting against me” I replied.

That wasn't the answer I'd most want to give him. And, I suppose, it also wasn't the one Connor wanted to hear. Funny, how we both knew who we were to one another, yet none of us wanted to be the first one to admit having such knowledge.

“How do I know it's not a trap?” Connor asked “How do I know I can trust you?”

“I should think that the fact you're still alive is some solid proof” I responded dryly “Oh, and...”

I unstrapped the hidden blade I borrowed from Connor , took it off and tossed to him.

“Will that do for a token of my veracity?” I asked.

Connor caught it and quickly fixed the blade on his forearm, testing it probably to make sure I didn't mess with his weapon. He looked back at me.

“Deal” he said, took a few steps forward and extended his hand.

I shook it shortly. We let go and quickly took a step back. None of us enjoyed the other invading his personal space.

“So...” Connor was apparently uneasy with the fact that we were in the same room and not trying to kill each other. “You don't happen to know where he took the supplies?”

“Church wasn't kind enough to leave a note” I replied harshly.

“I had no idea your knowledge isn't unlimited” Connor retorted.

“But my intelligence is” I said, crossing my arms “I believe they're heading to the sea. Maybe you could put your tracking skills to some good use and tell us which way did they take.”

Connor rolled his eyes and walked out.

While he was taking a look around our surroundings, I went to fetch my horse. When I returned to Connor, he was already in his saddle, waiting.

“They went that way” he pointed to the path leading left from the crossroad “At least one cart left very recently. Maybe a few hours ago. If we hurry, we could still catch up with them.”

“Let's not waste time then” I replied “Lead the way”

We rode in silence, Connor first, observing the track, and me behind him. When there was no crossroads or other possible ways the carts could have gone, we rode as fast as we could, slowing down where the route was less obvious. I was content that Connor accompanied me (though I'd never say this to his face). Not due to the questionable entertainment that his company provided, but because his tracking skills surely came in handy. The tracks were less visible than earlier, so without Connor the chase would probably go much slower.

About an hour after we left the church, Connor stopped and let me know to do the same.

“Listen” he said quietly.

The forest was almost completely quiet. I listened for a couple of seconds, picking up my ears. I quickly heard the noise that caught Connor's attention. It was silent, unintelligible muttering, sometimes a louder curse could be made out. They were coming from behind a mild hummock that we were riding up when we stopped.

“I don't think he heard us” Connor said in a low voice.

“This could be just some random traveller” I said thoughtfully “But I say we leave our horses here and go find out.”

Connor nodded. We dismounted our horses and tied their reins to a low branch of the nearby tree. Then we headed towards the source of the noises. I was aware of the fact that it'd be impossible to approach him unnoticed, yet we still involuntarily put our feet down carefully, walking as soundlessly as possible.

When we reached the ridge of the hummock, it turned out that we needn't have worried about being noticed. The man was stooping next to a sloping cart, which must have broken on the way and his loud curses drowned out any sounds of our steps.

The Assassin approached him, and, twisting his fingers as if he found it awkward to speak in a non-threatening manner, politely asked:

“Are you Ben Church's man?”

The carter jerked his head up, looked first at Connor, then at me. His eyes widened in fear and before any of us could say something, he turned around and scurried away.

“Well played” I said, smirking.

Connor wasted no time on an answer and darted after the man. I followed.

When I caught up with my son, he already had the carter pinned against a tree.

“What do you want?!” the man squealed.

“Where is Benjamin Church?” my son asked calmly.

“I don't know! I was riding north to the camp, where we unload the cargo! Maybe you'll find him there, I don't kno-...”

Before he finished, I took out my pistol and shot him.

Connor jumped back, surprised, as the body with a blown skull fell to the ground. Then he looked at me, his face splattered with blood.

“Why did you do this?!” he asked in a raised voice.

“He told us all he knew” I replied “He was of no further use.”

“And killing him was?!”

“I don't want any witnesses.”

“ _Witnesses_?!” Connor exclaimed “We could easily get to Church before him!”

“Who knew that an Assassin would be so opposed to killing” I said, turning back and walking back to the place where we left our horses. “Come on, let's not waste time.”

“That was pointless!” Connor said, following me.

“That was common sense.”

“You can't kill people just because they aren't convenient for you!”

“Oh?” I stopped, turning towards Connor “And what is it that you do exactly? How's _your_ choice of who lives and who dies more justified than mine?”

“He was just a cipher” the Assassin said, glaring at me “A no-one, following the orders of those in power. His death won't change a thing.”

“Then why are you so fixed on it?” I asked.

“Because it's wrong to spill blood for nothing” his tone was grim “If you hunt, you hunt for food. To survive. If you kill, you kill with a purpose. Murdering people as you please is wrong.”

That unnerved me a little bit, although I didn't let it show. Ziio said something similar once, when we were pursuing Edward Braddock. She didn't like the fact that I was looking forward to killing him. In her opinion the only acceptable reason for ending his life was achieving something with it. In that case – freeing her people and other tribes from the danger that Braddock posed. She didn't want to kill him, but she knew she had to.

Not willing to make it look like Connor had a point (because he didn't) I said sharply:

“He could have recognised us and I doubt our friends would be happy to know that we're working together.”

(The only friend of mine for whom it may matter is currently a few states away, imprisoned, but Connor didn't have to know that detail)

The Assassin was still glaring at me.

“Sulk all you wish” I said and started walking again “I'd rather put the information we managed to obtain from this man to some good use. You know, so he doesn't die in vain.”

Connor snorted, but after a few seconds, I heard him walking after me.

It looked as if my cooperation with the Assassin would be even more challenging than I initially thought. I knew it wouldn't be a piece of cake, but now, apart from our dissimilarity in views and beliefs and the fact that Connor was obstinate and ignorant and naïve, it appears that my Assassin is gifted with an incredibly soft heart.

Yet, an hour later I couldn't stop thinking about what Connor said. I was still not seeing the sense in his words, but they did trigger something in me.

_He is so much like her._

I winced.

It's just one man. One useless cipher. Connor needs to grow up if he wants to survive. It's either kill or get killed.

Though... I wish I could understand him. It would certainly make the days that we're about to spend together much easier.

_He is a phenomenon of sorts_ , I thought, staring at his back as we rode. Parentless, homeless, full of anger and driven by the desire to avenge and protect his home, yet he still could weep over a dead stranger, whom he didn't consider worthy enough to get killed.

_Ziio would understand it,_ some silent voice at the back of my head said. She would. She understood so many things. She was wise.

“I need your help” I muttered unwittingly.

“What?” Connor asked, turning around.

“What?” I jerked my head up.

“You said something”

“You're imagining things”

“And you're talking to yourself”

“Well, I craved an intellectual conversation” I snapped.

Connor snorted and turned back. I raised my eyes to the clear, ice-cold sky.

_I need your help_ , I repeated, careful not to do it aloud this time. _I need a lot of it._

Soon after that, the Assassin announced:

“We're there”

“Off the horse” I commanded.

We sneaked towards our destination. The campsite was set around a few buildings that during warmer seasons must serve as hunting shacks.

We hid in bushes as close as we could to have a good view, but remain unseen from the camp.

“I counted twelve” Connor whispered, observing the site.

“A bit too many, even for the two of us, I'd say” I replied “Go and see if you can learn anything”

“You want _me_ to go there?” Connor raised his eyebrows and I could hear quarrelsome tones in his voice.

“Well, you're the one trained to sneak around the woods, am I right?” I responded “Then go sneak around the woods”

“As you wish, old man” the Assassin snarled “Just don't go napping while I'm gone”

I smiled wryly as Connor cautiously headed towards the camp, staying low, using the trees and bushes and fallen tree trunks as a cover.

“Being mean to him will get you nowhere” said a voice next to me.

I jumped, which must have looked quite ridiculous, seeing as I was laying on the ground.

I looked to the side and saw her.

“You?” I uttered.

“Me” Ziio replied.

“I thought... I thought that you left”

“And I thought that you decided to be an idiot, but I'm glad to see you've reconsidered.”

I was staring at her, forgetting how to talk. One second I was alone, and the other Ziio was back. Back with me. I couldn't believe it.

“Were you... around?” I asked the first of many questions that appeared in my mind “Or were you, you know... gone?”

“You mean more gone than I already am?” Ziio raised her eyebrows “That's... difficult to explain. I suppose you could say I was... somewhere in between.”

I stared at her, still coming to the terms with the fact that I was actually talking to Ziio again. I felt a smile spreading across my lips, something that rarely happened in the past months.

“Why did you come back?” I asked.

“You need me” Ziio said simply.

“I do”

“And, as I said, I'm glad you're no longer an idiot. I mean... no more than usually.”

“So you'll help me? You'll stay with me?”

“I will. Though...” Ziio nodded in the direction that Connor left “I can see that you're doing not so badly on your own.”

“Was that an eulogy?” I asked, smirking.

“It's a fact. You and Ratonhnhaké:ton reached an agreement. And you haven't tried to kill each other for a few hours now.”

“A roaring success” I said, shaking my head “But he still... I don't think he is any more likely to see my point now than he was two years ago. It's sheer luck that we want the same thing.”

“Call it luck” Ziio shrugged “I call it a beginning”

“Don't get your hopes too high” I said grimly “I only allied with him because we have a common target, that's all. I don't think he's any smarter than he was back then. We're too... different to agree.”

“Or too similar” Ziio pointed out “You both need to give an inch and show some inclination to understand. You already made the first step on the way to achieving it – you created an opportunity.”

“Fantastic” I replied, still keeping an eye on the camp, scanning it for any sign of commotion that would indicate Connor being discovered “So now what?”

“As I said: don't be mean to him. Don't swagger. You won't impress him, you'll only discourage him from reaching out to you.”

“I'm just trying to be as honest as possible”

That may have not been the whole truth. Partially, yes. I did not want to give Connor any delusions about me. I also did not want to seem soft. And most certainly, I didn't want him to become fond of me. Our story can (and probably will) end miserably. I didn't want to make it any worse by provoking Connor ~~or myself~~ to form any sort of unwanted attachments.

“Then be honest in a polite way” Ziio replied “I thought that is the basic skill you, English, are taught.”

“Oh, no, we're just taught to be mannerly” I corrected “Honesty is off the table”

“I'm sure you'll figure it out, Haytham Kenway” the ghost smirked “You're supposed to be smart, no?”

“I _am_ smart” I said and a second later I felt a barrel of a musket touching my neck.

“Oh, are you?” said a voice from behind me.

“Oh no” Ziio whispered, looking above.

“Get up, slowly” the voice commanded.

I cursed silently. Talking with Ziio, I forgot that I should pay more attention to my surroundings. We were in an enemy territory and I let myself get caught like the worst idiot.

I got up. Ziio stood next to me, helpless and invisible to the ambushers, facing the three men, all of whose muskets were aimed at my head.

“A Yankee spy” said one of them, baring his teeth in a wide grin.

I gritted mine, furious at myself and feeling utterly humiliated. Captured by a bunch of thugs, who wouldn't stand a chance against me in an open combat. _When I get out of this awkward situation_ , I thought, _Connor won't let me hear the end of it._

“Come on, move” said the man standing closest to me, after they disarmed me.

He poked me with his musket to emphasise the order.

_I'll smash your head with it,_ I swore silently, before turning around and walking towards the camp, with one of my ambushers leading the way and the other two walking behind me and, undoubtedly, holding me at gunpoint. They led me to the biggest shack, in front of which a man was reading some papers.

As discreetly as I could, I scanned the surroundings, searching for Connor, painfully aware of the fact that right now he was my only hope. If I were to face all of my opponents alone, the odds wouldn't look particularly favourable for me.

 “What's this?” the man asked harshly, looking up from his papers.

“We found him spying in the woods” the one who stood in front of me said “Must have been sent by Washington.”

“Oh, no, it's someone better” the man came closer and his eyes widened “It's Haytham Kenway. Benjamin told me all about you, _Master_ Kenway. What an honour.”

I didn't reply. At that moment I glimpsed Connor, crouching at the tree branch, directly above the talking man. I forced myself to keep my eyes fixed on the man before me, so as not to draw any attention to the Assassin.

“What should we do with you, Haytham?” the one who recognised me asked thoughtfully.

“Unhand me and run for your life?” I proposed.

“Haytham” Ziio said warningly.

The punch that landed on my jaw and threw me off my feet hurt a little less due to the fact that I knew the man would be dead in a matter of seconds. And he was. My vision was blurred, so I didn't see the exact moment that Connor killed him, I just heard a loud thump as the Assassin jumped to the ground and an ugly gurgle when his blade punctured the man's throat.

A second later I saw two dark shapes falling heavily to the ground as Connor dealt with them as well. Then there was a loud bang of a shot which marked the last man’s end.

I blinked rapidly, trying to clear my sight. Suddenly, I noticed the Assassin standing above me, reaching out his hand towards me.

My head was still spinning, so, reluctantly, I took his hand and allowed him to help me up. I felt my jaw begins to ache. Presumably, by tomorrow a fine bruise will appear on it.

“I told you not to go napping” Connor muttered, sounding more rebuking than mockingly.

“Did you manage to learn anything?” I asked, ignoring his words and picking up my weapons from the ground where one of the men dropped them.

“New York” Connor replied “He has a ship there”

“New York it is, then”

While walking past the thug who earlier poked me with his musket, I heard him moan silently. I kicked up one of the muskets, grabbed it and crushed his skull with it. He fell silent.

“ _Requiescat in pace_ ” I hissed.

This time Connor just rolled his eyes. Maybe he will get used to it eventually.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's here, as I promised! But, due to the fact that the next one is as long as this one, if not longer, I'm afraid I will also upload it no sooner than in two weeks. :(


	14. 9th January 1778

 

_i_

 

Our two-day ride to New York passed mostly in silence. I felt that the words which were said when we last talked, almost two years ago, float between us creating an invisible and virtually unbreakable wall. Connor wasn't particularly loquacious and I had plenty of things to think through, so we only spoke out when we needed to choose the way or set up a camp for the night.

I wanted to talk with Ziio, but given that Connor was around me almost all the time and he'd already heard me conversing with myself once, I didn't get the opportunity to do so until we arrived in New York.

For the first time since we meet in the church, I had time to collect my thoughts and consider what the future would bring. While I still wasn't convinced that I did the right thing allying with Connor, the circumstances did indeed seem to favour our cooperation.

Firstly, I could finally prove to him that the Order was on the patriots' side. Not that proving anything to my son suddenly became my greatest ambition (I couldn't care less whether the boy appreciated my effort to help their silly cause or not), but I wanted to show him that he's wrong and if helping him get that damn supplies back was the way to achieve it, then so be it.

Secondly, now that we buried the axe (God knows how long that will last, but still) and we were stuck with each other, maybe we will finally have the opportunity to talk ~~like~~ Like who? Assassin and Templar? Or son and father? The first option will inevitably lead to another row and one of us (probably Connor) stomping away and sulking for the next couple of days. And I do not know how to talk to him like a father. Especially seeing as Connor presumably doesn't see me as a father at all. I am a stranger to him. At best. An enemy, at worst. And at usual.

Thirdly, Ziio was back. I had no idea (or maybe just refused to acknowledge?) how much I missed her. It sounds silly as I write it, but I feel like some part of me returned to its rightful place. Like I'm whole again.

But together with her, this familiar feeling of guilt and concern returned. I was still prepared to face the need to kill Connor, if I was wrong about him. I didn't want Ziio to see it.

Fate chose an odd and ironic way to bring the three of us together again. Father – a Templar. Son – an Assassin. Mother – dead. And here we are: mockingly offered a chance of being a family that we might have been had things turned out differently.

The sight of New York suburbs, which were basically one big burned ruin – all that survived the fire in the September of 1776 – pulled me out of my thoughts.

“Welcome to the greatest city in the world” I said ironically.

Connor was staring grimly at our surroundings. I noticed that his hands were tightly clenching the reins. He was visibly affected by what we saw all around us.

A few seconds later, in enlightened me why. The fire, obviously. Looking at what remained of the western part of the city must have triggered the memories of his own home charred and destroyed. And of Ziio. I felt slight sympathy for the boy. I knew how he felt.

The image of flames that destroyed the house by Queen Anne's Square was faded in my memory, but it was there. Fire seemed to have a way of taking away from our family the things we held most dear.

For a moment, presumably due to Ziio's meaningful stare, I felt inclined to say something that would lift Connor's spirits. I decided against it, however. I don't think any words of consolation from me would be welcome. He wasn't a child anymore, he could take it.

Instead, I said:

“I doubt that Church and his cargo managed to go through the city unnoticed. We should easily find out where he is or where he went.”

Connor nodded.

“What do you propose?” he asked.

I motioned my head in the direction of the harbour, marked by rows of tall masts, swaying on the wind.

“Let's start at the docks” I said “We can visit some taverns. People there are usually quite talkative, so if they saw anything, we'll easily find out.”

Connor nodded once more. I hadn't spent enough time in his company to know whether his grim mood was his usual manner or is it just how the depressing surroundings affected him.

When we arrived at the harbour, I suggested splitting.

“Two armed men will draw more attention than one” I added.

Before Connor walked away, I stopped him.

“Do try to be more subtle and less threatening” I advised “More _approachable_.”

“You think I can't talk to people without scaring them off?” Connor glared at me.

“With that look on your face? Yes” I replied “We'll meet here at sunset.”

The Assassin murmured affirmatively and walked away.

“Do you really need that much time?” Ziio asked when I rode in the opposite direction.

“What? Oh, no” I responded in an undertone, in order not to draw attention of the people I passed “But I have business to attend to on the other side of the city.”

“What business?” Ziio asked, frowning.

“Well” I shrugged “I thought that maybe Connor would like to get his garments back.”

“I'm sure he'll appreciate the gesture” Ziio said.

“He'd better”

The ghost looked at me seriously.

“He may not show it” she said “But he _is_ glad by how it all turned out. He was hoping for something like this to happen. Consciously or not.”

“He hid it quite well the last time we met” I reckoned bitterly.

“You surprised him” Ziio shrugged “He didn't know what to do and he wasn't sure if he could trust you. And if _you_ woke up in a cell, I bet you wouldn't be very _approachable_ either.”

“So how do you know that this is what he wants now?” I asked, looking at her carefully.

“I'm his mother, I know things. And he agreed, did he not?” she pointed out “Quite quickly too. Ratonhnhaké:ton... welcomed this excuse...this possibility to learn who you are.”

“Huh” I muttered noncommittally.

I was beginning to believe that the next days of our pursuit after Church may actually lead to a breakthrough. I tried to force myself not to get attached to this vision too much. After all, we both remember how it ended the last time. But we got another chance. And perhaps, if we both try, we can exploit it. And then... who knows?

Probably nothing. Knowing Connor and his attitude, we'll be lucky enough if we don't murder each other. Although... did I really know Connor? I didn't. Behind the Creed, behind the armour, behind the patriot uniform there was a person who might be different from whom he wanted to be seen as. Who is this person? What is he like? Is he still there or am I just imagining things, being lenient to my sentiment for Ziio?

I glanced at the ghost, who floated next to me, thoughtfully staring ahead. Yes, I thought. He's still there, otherwise she wouldn't be here.

She was back. Really back. Well, not really, but as close to really as she could.

“Why did you decide not to kill him?” Ziio asked silently.

“What?”

“In the church, when he arrived” she explained. “I saw you hesitating”

“A noble gesture?” I suggested.

Ziio shook her head.

“You wouldn't do it without a good reason” she said. “Why did you ask him to help you?”

“'Help' is such a strong word. I'd prefer the term 'lack of disturbance'” I said, not wanting to raise her hopes, just like I didn't want to raise mine “It can be easier to hunt Church if we're not hunting _each other_. And the boy may even be useful”

“And?”

“And I want to lead him to those damn supplies and to prove my point”

“And?”

“Curiosity” I shrugged “I'd like to see what's he like when he's not trying to kill me.”

“And?”

“That's it”

“Is it?”

It wasn't and I finally had to admit it. I wanted to get to know my son. Looking at him, I see an image of myself and Ziio and sometimes even my father. I want to know how much of us is actually there. I already knew that Connor can be obstinate and impetuous... but what if there is something else? Intelligence, maybe? Common sense? Perhaps I can still save him from his ignorance.

I had to face it: I wanted to avoid killing my son for as long as possible. I delayed the inevitable. Was I getting old? Sentimental? Weak? Hopefully not. I was still ready to face the prospect of having to fight Connor, maybe in a few weeks time. Then, I shall not hesitate.

I just wanted to give him a chance. For Ziio. For what might have been.

The headquarters were unusually quiet when we arrived. A few members of the Order, with a rank too low to allow themselves to greet me with anything beyond a curt nod and a short salutation, were currently residing there. The mood of the place was almost depressing.

I left my horse with the equerry, telling the man not to unsaddle him. With Ziio still following me, I quickly walked upstairs.

Ziio's voice stopped me when we passed the dining room on the first floor.

“Who's that?” she asked.

I turned around and peeked inside the room, convinced that some of my colleagues unexpectedly were around.

But what Ziio was pointing at was an oil painting that hang above the top of the table. She floated towards it.

“That's Jacques de Molay” I said, walking behind her “Grand Master of the Order, executed in the early fourteenth century. He fell victim to the plot that aimed to destroy the Templar Order and rob it of its riches and influence and land.”

“The Assassins?”

“Partially, probably” I shrugged. It was always the Assassins “But mostly greed and envy. The king in France and the pope in Rome didn't like the fact that we were this powerful. We've never managed to recover our strength and prestige since then.”

They were a few more paintings in the dining room. Ziio skipped the next one and stopped by the portrait hanging on the wall vis-à-vis the fireplace, directly in front of it. I felt my face get hotter.

“This one I know” Ziio said, glancing at me with a spark in her eye “Though the resemblance isn't striking”

“I was against hanging it here” I muttered “But the others were fixed on the notion of making this place cosier and apparently hanging our faces on the wall was their idea of doing so.”

I was deeply unhappy with the fact that my portrait was noticeably bigger than the others.

“Well, after all, you are the _Grand Master_ , Grand Master Kenway” Christopher Gist said when he and Shay Cormac were hanging the painting, grinning like two schoolboys pulling a prank.

“This is idiotic” I said then and left the room.

I later proceeded to pretend the portrait wasn't there, whenever I walked inside the room and at some point it blended into the surroundings and its absence would be more observable than its presence, so I just let it be.

“They didn’t get your mouth right” Ziio pointed out.

“What's wrong with them?” I asked defensively, forgetting for a second that I was talking about the despised portrait.

“They look...” Ziio hesitated, searching for the right word “...inexpressive”

I raised my eyebrows and was about to deliver some response, but something else already caught Ziio's attention. She moved towards the extinguished fireplace, intrigued.

“Where did you get this?” Ziio asked, pointing at the composition of wooden beads, carved bone and feathers that hang above the fireplace.

“It's a memento from one of the villages” I frowned, trying to recall the details “During the seven years war, one of our men helped to get rid of the French soldiers who took the people of this village hostage. It was the Oneida tribe... as far as I remember. Shay – the man who was there – received it as a token of their friendship.”

“A noble man, Shay” Ziio replied in a flat tone “How selfless”

“He expected nothing in return” I said in a defensive tone “We helped them fight our common enemy”

“Oh, so if it had been the British, you wouldn't have lifted a hand”

“Different tribes were allied with the opposite sides of the conflict” I replied evasively “We aided those who were on our side.”

“Your side, their side” Ziio snapped, crossing her arms, suddenly angry “And you keep forgetting we have our own side.”

I shook my head slowly.

“I do not” I replied “But making alliances with the fighting parties puts you in either group”

“Oh, so it's _our_ fault?”

“That's not what I'm saying”

That was a difficult subject. Having spent years in the colonies, I got used to the fact that both the Natives and the colonists were a part of the New World. I sometimes forget that we were the intruders.

“Your people were deprived of the possibility to stay away from our conflict years ago” I continued “It isn’t fair and I am sorry that it had to be this way, but I can't do anything to change that. You know I can't.”

It came out almost as if I begged her to understand.

Ziio sighed. Her eyes were fixed on the hearth. Her glow dimmed slightly.

“So you see why I want to keep Ratonhnhaké:ton away from it” she said silently “It's not _his_ war. You and the Assassins, Washington and the British – those are not his wars.”

“But he joined them” I replied quietly, not really sure what for.

Connor was no longer a lost child. He is a grown man, responsible for his actions. He may have not been born into being an Assassin but he certainly proved he is one par excellence.

It was different though when it came to the revolution. There was nothing holding him in it, from what I could tell. Only his stubbornness and motives known to no one else but the Assassin himself.

“Are you asking me to prove to him that neither the patriots nor the redcoats are worth his support?” I asked.

Ziio looked me in the eyes.

“Yes” she said “Before it's too late”

I nodded in agreement.

We left the dining room and headed to my study connected with the bedroom. We did have plenty of time, but we couldn't loiter here forever.

Taking advantage of the fact that the warfare was frozen for winter, I had spent the past few weeks in my house in Virginia, so this was the first time anyone entered the room since almost two months. I noticed with satisfaction that everything looked just as I left it and no one disturbed the room.

“Why did he even join the revolution in the first place?” I asked, returning to our conversation.

“At first it was about fighting you – the Templars . Then he decided to support the patriots in their cause.”

“Liberty” I snorted.

“So called” Ziio nodded “We both know that this land will never be truly liberated. Or, at least, not _everyone_ will be truly liberated.”

“I'm glad we agree in that matter” I opened the door to my bedroom and walked towards the wardrobe “I suppose... if he is at least a little bit like you and cares about his people in the slightest, it shouldn't be difficult to make him see the reality.”

“Just try not to poison him with your bitterness” Ziio said with a slight smirk.

“I'm not bitter” I replied “I merely learned the lesson life has taught me”

“It didn't spare them to our son either”

“Apparently, he's not a very diligent student” I said, taking Connor's outfit from the bottom of the wardrobe.

“His heart is at the right place. All he does is following it.”

“He'll find nothing but disappointment on his way. One should rely on his brains, rather than heart”

“Or trust both”

“They rarely agree” I said, sensing that we were stepping on thin ice. It was getting a tad too philosophical for my taste too.

“We agreed”

I looked at Ziio. Now, we were stomping on thin ice, tempting fate.

“Your heart was exceptionally sober” I said carefully.

“And your brain was very affectionate”

“Either too much or not enough so” I put the clothing in some old linen bag I found in the wardrobe “We should... we should get going.”

I left the room in a hurry, trying not to look at Ziio. My pulse was faster than it should be, and my thoughts were annoyingly incoherent. I didn't know what I was doing.

 _Stomping on thin ice_ , a quiet voice in my head said.

Normally, one should learn from his mistakes, but, apparently, I was less clever than I gave myself credit for, since I appear to be making the same exact mistake that led to the events which ended in such miserable way two years ago. As they did _twenty_ years ago.

Haytham Kenway, the fool who allowed himself to care, when everything told him not to.

I cared. About her? About the child she wanted to protect? Certainly not the latter, for that would be a sign of utter fatuousness, if not madness.

She's a ghost, for God's sake. Pull yourself together, old fool. She's not even really here. You shouldn't feel such affection for someone who's been long gone from the physical world. That's madness.

Although, it's extremely pleasant for a madness.

I rode back to the docks, Ziio floating next to me, me still avoiding looking at her. Even though it was more than an hour left till sundown, Connor was already waiting.

“Where have you been?” he asked suspiciously.

“Thought you might want these back” I threw him the sack with his clothes and the bow, wrapped in fabric.

First thing Connor did was checking his weapon.

“I took the bowstring off, don't worry” I said.

When the Assassin finished examining his retrieved belongings, he nodded in satisfaction.

“Did you manage to learn anything?” I asked.

“There's an old brewery not far from here” Connor replied. “That's where he keeps the supplies. He's going to load them on a ship and sail south.”

“Excellent. See how helpful people become when you stop glaring at them?”

Connor turned a deaf ear to that remark. He took his outfit out of the bag, but I stopped him before he put it on.

“Just the weapons” I said “If we're to get into the brewery, we'd better look as unsuspicious as possible.”

The boy looked as if he wanted to oppose my suggestion just because, but he finally nodded.

“Shall we?” he asked.

“Lead the way”

The brewery in fact wasn't far. We stopped in the shadow of a nearby building, observing the entrance.

“Just one guard” Connor said quietly “They're not expecting trouble”

“All the better for us”

“How will we get in?”

“Through the door” I nodded towards the guard. “This must be one of our men. We'll just act as if we were allowed to be here.”

“Does that work?” Connor asked dubiously.

“You'd be surprised how often. Let's go.”

We strolled towards the entrance to the brewery. Ziio was floating a couple of inches behind me and to my right Connor was doing his best to act casual.

“Good evening” I said to the guard. “The Father of Understanding guides us.”

The man nodded, but didn't step aside.

“You, I recognise” he pointed his chin towards Connor “Not the savage”

“He's my son” I replied without thinking.

I forced myself to keep a neutral face, even though I glimpsed the Assassin staring at me in astonishment.

“Tasted the forest fruit, eh?” the guard chortled.

He was still laughing when my fist crushed into his face, knocking him unconscious. His back hit the massive wooden door and the man slumped to the ground, his musket knocking on the pavement.

“You needn't have done that” Ziio said disapprovingly.

I did my best to hide the fact that I was no less surprised by my actions than my companions were. I did it completely without any forethought, almost impulsively.

I pulled the unconscious guard inside so as it wouldn't attract any unwanted attention.

Connor followed me.

“So you knew?” he asked quietly.

“Yes”

“For how long?”

“Long enough to begin regretting such knowledge” I muttered.

Connor snorted.

“Well, it hasn't been that great for me either” he said.

“Oh, yes, the burden of knowing I'm you father really showed when you tried to shoot me at Johnson's”

I honestly couldn't blame him for doing that, but I was determined to uphold the conversation concerning something else then my careless behaviour a few minutes ago. I walked towards the large, wooden door, which, I presumed, led to a correspondingly large room where it seemed most likely to be the place where the supplies would be stocked, as well as where we could start looking for Benjamin.

“If I wanted to shoot you, I would've” Connor said, following me “I don't miss”

For a second, I felt as if I was listening to my younger self. Convinced of his skills, taking pride in them... vain.

“In that case, I am greatly thankful to you for letting me go with merely a wound” I replied sarcastically.

Connor shrugged, unperturbed.

I kneeled by the lock, took out a couple of wires that served me as lockpicks and started dealing with the lock.

“Why did you have to hit this man?” Connor asked accusatorily, apparently having gotten over the surprise and ready to reproach me for my unwise behaviour “It was far from discreet and hardly _approachable_.”

If I was less irated, I would probably be impressed by him twisting my words against me.

“I didn't like the way he talked” I replied “Did you?”

_Tasted the forest fruit._

I gritted my teeth, feeling blood pounding in my ears. I'm not sure why it caused this sudden outburst of fury. Well, the fury was justified – after all, the manner in which this simple boor talked to me and his words, insulting both to Ziio and me and Connor was disgusting – but that hardly excused my reaction.

Maybe I would've let it go if it was only my dignity that he'd offended. But he disrespected my family and my family was watching, thus I could not abide it. This was quite Father-like. He would have done it without question. Somehow that silenced my conscience.

“Funny” Connor leaned against the door, crossing his arms and staring grimly at the opposite wall “You acted almost as if you cared what people say about my mother”

“What makes you think I don't?”

I cursed as my hand flinched and the lockpick fell out of the lock, forcing me to start the whole process all over again.

I could hear suppressed anger in my son's voice when he spoke:

“Well, you didn't care for _her_ much, did you?”

“How can you be so sure?”

Connor fixed his eyes on my face.

“You left” he said accusingly “You left us... I mean, her.”

“Which is a quite reasonable thing to do when one is being threatened to have his heart ripped out and fed to the wolves if he ever shows himself again” I replied, glancing at Ziio.

She shook her head slightly.

“But...” I continued, focusing back on the lock “I suppose you couldn't have known that”

“What?” Connor frowned “What are you talking about?”

“I...” I cleared my throat, not sure what to say.

I wasn't exactly in a mood for confessions right now, and this wasn't the time or place for such.

“I made a mistake” I said shortly “And I had to pay for it. And...”

I glanced at Ziio once more. She was looking at me, intrigued.

“... and your mother was absolutely right” I finished “She always is”

“Of course” Ziio said.

Connor blinked in surprise.

“What did you...” he began, but I interrupted him.

“Now's not the best time, son. Maybe some other day.”

“Aren't you going to ask me how is she?” Connor blurted.

I sighed.

“I know damn well how she is” I drawled, glaring at the lock.

“Of course you do. After all, it was your men who...”

“... who happened to be near your village the day it was burned?” I interrupted “And perhaps you assumed they were the ones who caused the fire?”

“And you're the one who ordered it!”

The lock clicked silently. We should move, but I had to reply somehow respond to Connor's accusations.

“Do you really think me capable of something so monstrous?”

“Yes”

That wasn't pleasant. But, well, justified.

“Maybe you're right” I replied coldly, opening the door “But I'd never hurt _her_. Or the defenceless people in your home”

I walked inside, without waiting for Connor's answer.

The room was as spacious as I presumed, but it was empty. No sign of supplies. It took me a few seconds to notice the man, standing on the opposite side of the room, leafing through some papers.

“Haytham, wait” Ziio said suddenly. “Something's wrong.”

I stopped momentarily and Connor bumped into me. He murmured something that I decided to consider an apology. I glanced at Ziio, ignoring the questioning look that my son gave me. The woman was the entresol above. I followed her gaze. The upper floor was stacked with boxes and beams and large pieces of cloth, possibly the kind used to make sails. So a perfect place to hide. And indeed, I noticed movement on our right side. Apparently Benjamin expected us. Connor followed my stare and frowned. I took out my pistol. Even if it was a trap, I came here for Benjamin and I wasn't leaving without him.

“Benjamin Church!” I called, still observing the right side of the room with the corner of my eye “You stand accused of betraying the Templar Order and abandoning our principles in pursuit of personal gain. In consideration of your crime, I hereby sentence you to death.”

The man turned around. It was not Benjamin.

“Now!” he yelled.

I already expected where the attacker would show up, so as soon as he jumped from behind his cover, I aimed at his head and shot. A millisecond later I heard another shot and something pulled me backwards. It was Connor's hand.

“There's more of them” he said, taking out his pistol and shooting in the chest a man who appeared on our left.

More were approaching. Connor and I simultaneously dropped our useless guns and threw ourselves at the attackers, hoping to intercept the element of surprise.

The man in front of me raised a musket. Instead of moving sideways, I ducked under it and slammed into the man, throwing him off his feet. As we hit the ground I jabbed him between the ribs with my blade and tugged the musket from his hands.

I turned around to check on Connor, but he seemed to be doing fine without my help.

“Church” Ziio said warningly.

I looked in the direction where I last saw the false Benjamin, just in time to see him struggling with the door on the opposite side of the room. I raised the musket and shot. The men shrieked as the bullet punctured his calf and fell to the ground.

Connor also recalled our man, because as soon as he dealt with his current opponent, the Assassin turned around, pulling his bow and aimed at the fake Benjamin, who laid on the ground and moaned in pain.

We approached the man and Connor pulled him up and held him, as I reloaded my pistol.

The man wailed silently as his body weight rested on the injured leg.

“Was it really worth it? I don't think so” I said dryly.

“Where is Benjamin Church?” Connor asked “Where did he go?”

“Please...” fake Benjamin moaned “Promise you won't kill me”

“I won't” Connor said.

“He...he had the cargo loaded on a ship... heading to Martinique”

“What ship?”

“ _The Welcome_ ”

“Fantastic” I said, slitting his throat.

Connor jumped back, dodging the blood fountain.

“We promised...” he began.

“You promised” I corrected him “And you kept your word. Good for you. Now...”

Before I could finish, we heard the patter of running feet and five men barge into the room, aiming their muskets at us. The situation didn't look particularly favourable for us. My pistol was useless, as was Connor's laying and the floor twenty feet from us. Connor still had his bow, but he couldn't eliminate five opponents at once.

Before my son or I moved, the men aimed and shot. But not at us. At the barrels a couple of feet to the left.

“Bloody Hell” was all I could say before the contents of the barrels exploded and threw us off our feet.

I curled into a ball in mid-air, which probably saved my life when I hit the wall. The impact pushed the breath out of my lungs. I heard and felt an unpleasant crack somewhere in my ribcage.

I fell to the floor. When I looked around, I noticed two things: Connor laying motionless next to me and fire. All around us.

I crawled to the Assassin, moving as little as possible. I grabbed his shoulder and shook it.

“Connor?” I said, twitching in pain “Son!”

There was no response.

“Connor!” I said louder, still shaking his arm and trying to ignore the pain in my ribcage.

Once again, the Assassin did not react.

I felt a twinge of fear. _He shouldn't be dead_ , I thought. I still had to tell him the truth about Washington and Ziio's death. ~~I still had to~~

“For God's sake, boy, get up!”

If I were to drag the Assassin's unconscious, massive body outside, through the Hell that surrounded us in a building that could collapse any moment, odds were we'd both die in here and that was not a very tempting prospect.

I grabbed Connor's wrist and waited a few seconds. There was a pulse. I stopped shaking the boy's shoulder and slapped his face instead.

“Come on, son” I drawled

The Assassin sucked in air and opened his eyes.

“Good, you're alive” I got up shakingly “Let's go”

Connor lifted himself up, looking around. His eyes widened and he froze.

“Come on!” I urged, grabbing his arm and pulling the boy up, twitching in pain.

The Assassin staggered.

“Can you walk?” I asked.

Connor nodded and looked around again, his sight clearing, though I could see he was breathing heavily, as if he was trying not to give into panic. However, when he spoke, his voice betrayed no weakness:

“We have to go up”

We headed towards the stairs. Both doors leading out of the room were blocked, so our only hope was finding some other way our upstairs. I gritted my teeth. Every step up the stairs felt like a punch to my broken ribs. _Climbing out shall be entertaining_ , I thought grimly.

We walked as quickly as we could through the corridor, with Ziio behind, urging us to hurry. I noticed that Connor was limping slightly. _Brilliant_ , I thought, _two cripples chasing Church. What a fabulous pursuit this shall be._

At the end of the corridor there was a door, though my hopes of it being an exit to a balcony or an outside stairs died as soon as we ran through it. It was a room. A dead end. Then I noticed that one of the walls was actually a large wooden gate... locked from the outside.

“Damn it” I said “We have to go back”

“We can't” Connor said.

“Haytham, it leads to the harbour” Ziio said “You can make it if you break through”

I twitched at the prospect of pain that the collision with the door would cause. But we had to leave somehow. I turned to Connor to share this idea with him, but he's already taken a few steps back, ready to charge. I don’t know if I should be worried, or impressed, that his first idea was to break through the wall, and not to find another way around.

“On three” I said, standing next to him.

He nodded. We counted to three and charged. I gritted my teeth, forcing myself not to slow down and ran into the door. The collision caused me to cry in pain. But I felt the wood give up and the next second we were falling. In mid-air I thought that if we die, hitting what's below us, at least this horrible pain in my side will finally go away. I was almost ready for the neck-breaking fall.

And then we hit the surface of the water. I forced myself to suppress another shriek of pain and keep my mouth shut as the freezing cold water closed above my head.

Connor apparently failed to do so, because when I swam to the surface, I heard him coughing. ~~At least I knew he's alive.~~

We swam to the wharf, which was slightly easier then I presumed, due to the fact that the cold quickly caused my aching body to go numb, which slightly reduced the pain. We crawled onto the platform and leaned against the stack of boxes, obscuring us from the view. For a couple of minutes we were silent, waiting for our breaths to calm and for our body warmth to return, generally savouring the fact that we were alive.

“Now we're even” Connor rasped at last.

“What? No, you still owe me”

“For what, old man? I saved your skin at Church’s camp and you repaid me for that now. We’re even”

“You forget about New York, where you _didn’t_ get hanged. You still owe me”

Without opening his eyes, Connor lifted a hand in which he held my miraculously undestroyed hat.

“Alright” I took it “So, we _are_ even”

Connor let out a sound that was something between a short laugh and a moan of pain.

“How's your rib?” he asked.

“Crushed, or so it feels” I dreaded the moment when I'll have to take off my shirt and see the whole amount of damage “How's your leg?”

“It's been better” Connor shrugged.

“Marvellous” I said “I can't wait for that hours horseback.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Church” I said “We have to somehow follow him”

“We could go by ship”

“I doubt there are many ships sailing to Martinique right now”

“I have a ship”

For the first time Connor's words left me speechless. I stared at him and could swear I glimpsed a slight smirk on his face.

“You have a what?” I asked finally.

“ _The Aquila_ ” Connor replied “It's my ship”

“How?”

“Achilles arranged it” Connor shrugged “She was a wreck, but we repaired her and now _The Aquila_ is as good as new.”

“Oh, well then” I shook my head in disbelief at the Brotherhood just giving out vessels left and right.

“It should be about half a mile that way” Connor pointed in the direction opposite to the burning brewery.

“Then lets move” I said “While we still _can_ move”

Later, I thanked God that we didn't run into any trouble. Walking this small distance was a challenge, facing any attackers would be the death for us. Taking each breath in hurt as Hell and Connor couldn't walk without me supporting him.

When we finally arrived by _The Aquila_ , a bearded man in a waterproof coat hurried to meet us.

“Captain!” he greeted Connor.

He must have noticed the burns and grazes on us and our clothes. He glanced towards the column of smoke and a blaze still visible from where we stood.

“The fire... was that you?” the man asked.

“Later, Mr. Faulkner” Connor replied.

“The man helped him to walk the gangplank. I followed them.

“Do you want me to get Nathaniel?” Faulkner asked.

“Yes, please”

Faulkner glanced in my direction”

“And who is...?” he asked quietly, although from his suspicious glare I could gather that he knew very well who I was.

“He's coming with us”

“Connor, I don't think...”

“Tell Nathaniel to come to my cabin” Connor interrupted the older man “We can both use his help”

Faulkner gave me one last look and walked away.

I followed Connor to his cabin. A few minutes later, the man for whom Connor had sent arrived as well, with a handful of bandages and ointments.

Both the Assassin and I somehow forgot that apart from the most nagging injuries, we had plenty of smaller cuts, grazes and burns which escaped our attention.

Having all those dressed, Connor insisted on going on deck to give orders. On his way there, he showed me to my cabin. I was relieved that I wouldn't have to stay with the rest of the crew, so I ignored the fact that my new accommodation left much to be desired.

“Technically, it's the second cabin” my son explained awkwardly “But we use it as one more supply closet”

Indeed, half of the space was taken up by various boxes and packages. But there was a narrow bed and a solid, though small, desk, even a porthole, which would provide light during daytime. I've slept in worse places.

“It'll do nicely” I cleared my throat “I appreciate...”

I waved my hand awkwardly, not really sure what I appreciate.

Connor muttered something in response, wittingly or not repeating my gesture.

“We leave at dawn” he informed me and left.

Letting out a sigh of relief, I carefully undressed and laid on the bed, falling asleep almost momentarily. The last thing I saw was Ziio's face, smiling softly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas and a happy new year, y'all! Thank you for being here and sorry for the delay!
> 
> [edited stuff, because I'm dumb]


	15. 12th January 1778

 

_i_

  


Nathaniel, who had been in the middle of his medical training when he enlisted on the _Aquila_ and served as a medic to the crew, precisely making use of the experience he'd managed to obtain so far, instructed me not to leave my bed and move as little as possible at least for the next week. Which was fine with me, for the first two days or so, when my whole body ached, letting me know of every single bruise, cut, graze and burn I'd earned.

I wasn't particularly eager to leave my cabin also due to the fact that I could feel the aura of suspicion that appeared on the ship when I set my foot on its deck. I doubted Connor shared my identity with all of his men, but I'd be surprised if the quartermaster, Mr. Faulkner, didn't order the crew to keep an eye on me. Strolling around the ship with everyone watching every step I take wasn't a tempting vision.

Ziio has been keeping me company for the past two days, but neither of us is too talkative (which apparently runs in the family) and any attempt of chatting ended up looking awkward and weird. That seemed a bit ironic, seeing as there were so many things we _should_ talk about. For example, Connor and what to do with him, or whatever happened in New York, in the headquarters, or all those things that remained unsaid for years after we parted...

I am still unsure whether Ziio has forgiven me for Braddock or not. And for how I pushed her away in 1776. That's another subject we should raise, but didn't. Odd, how I feel that Ziio is the person who understood me in a way nobody else ever did... yet now we found it difficult to break through this wall of silence. Perhaps I was afraid to ask? Things seemed fine since she returned, but maybe that's just what I wanted to see.

All in all, I've been trapped in a small, stuffy room, to which the single porthole did little help. I had nothing to do, apart from writing this journal and worrying about the future and by the evening of the second day, I was willing to kill for a few minutes on the deck, even if the price I had to pay was the pain of my bruised body.

I gave up just before dawn on the third day since our arrival on _Aquila_. Due to the fact that I spent most of my time resting, I had trouble getting a good night's sleep and woke up every few hours. Finally, I felt that if I were to stay inside any minute longer, I'd go mad. I got dressed and quietly sneaked out from below deck.

The sea was calm, which is why the previous day it was decided to sail during the night with minimal staff present on deck, taking shifts to get some sleep. I knew I couldn't avoid meeting someone, but I hoped that they'd avoid me and let me enjoy fresh air in peace.

I headed to the bow of the ship and too late did I realise that I wasn't the only one who chose this spot.

As far as I knew, Connor was also supposed to stay in bed and rest. Certainly, he wasn't advised to take walks on the deck, not with his injured ankle. From the way he leaned on the side of the ship and avoided using his left leg to support the weight of his body, I guessed that it still hurt.

I hesitated for a second, but then I realized that we had to bump into each other sooner or later and that there was no point in avoiding the meeting. The vessel wasn't that huge, after all.

I approached my son quietly, unable to resist the temptation to sneak up on him. The boy was staring into the horizon, his sight absent. His hands, without the fingerless gloves Connor usually wore, were resting on the side of the ship and I noticed extensive burns all over them. I frowned.

“Don't you want to have those dressed?” I asked loudly, feeling slight satisfaction as the boy flinched.

The Assassin quickly hid his burned hands.

“It's too late for dressing those burns now, father” he replied impassively “Eighteen years too late”

“I... see”

For a few seconds we were quiet.

“Back in the brewery” I finally said “What happened?”

“I don't know what you mean”

“The fire... triggered something in you. You seemed almost paralyzed for a moment”

Connor pursed his lips and didn't reply.

“It's because of what happened when you were a child, isn't it?” I asked.

I felt awkward. Maybe I shouldn't have asked those questions (after all it wasn't as If I was going to hug and comfort him as he talked about his traumatic past) but they could, brick by brick, help me understand Connor better.

“Fire was all around me” Connor said in a hoarse voice “It took everything. Our crops, our houses, my friends. Mother. I...”

The Assassin cleared his throat and glared at the ocean, apparently intent to avoid my gaze.

“I tried to save her, you know” he blurted “I tried to... but I wasn't strong enough, I couldn't...”

He closed his eyes, his face a mask of pain and fury. I didn't have to look to know that Ziio was observing us.

“You were a child” I said “There was nothing you could do. It's not your fault.”

“No, it's not”

“It's not _my_ fault either” I added sharply.

I've had enough of being blamed for Washington's crimes

“Those who were there: Lee and the others saw a British troop near your village” I continued, unwittingly raising my voice “They were led by George Washington”

Connor snorted.

“I'm supposed to believe that?!” he exclaimed “Do you think me this stupid?!”

“I'm not lying to you! Do you think I could look you in the eyes knowing what I did? That I killed your mother?!”

“Yes, why not?! I can see that human life has no value for you, why should my mother's life be any different?!”

“How _dare_ you!” I yelled “ _I LOVED HER!_ ”

I surprised both Connor and myself with this statement. Instantly, I felt embarrassed by this sudden outburst of emotion and, not willing Connor to notice this, I turned around and quickly walked away.

Before reaching the entrance to the hold, I nearly collided with Mr. Faulkner.

“Is there a problem?” he asked.

“Out of my way” I snapped in response.

I dodged the man, who luckily for himself stepped away. I was in no mood for people getting in my way and Faulkner's obstinacy could end badly for him.

Having stormed into my cabin and locked the door, I immediately had to sit on the bed, letting out a short cry of pain. Everything hurt even more than yesterday, which wasn't unexpected, frankly.

I squinted my eyes and breathed heavily, curling up to reduce the overwhelming pain in my broken rib. After a few minutes, the ache still hasn't lessened, but instead turned into this dull pulsation, which was a little bit more bearable and at least allowed me to sit straight.

I wasn't at all surprised to see Ziio in front of me, watching me carefully.

“You never told me” she said quietly.

“Told you what?”

“That you loved me”

I let out a quiet, bitter laugh.

“I suppose... I needed a shamingly long time to figure it out myself” I replied.

How long did it take? Far too long, that's for sure. I should have known the very second... The very second what? When it hurt every time she looked coldly at me during the past few years? Every time she made it clear that she didn't trust me enough and I knew that she would never trust me like she once did? Or maybe when I saw her for the first time in years when she came to me in 1773 and a warm, unearthly glow appeared in my life? Or earlier, when she was yelling at me, threatening to feed my heart to the wolves if I ever came back, even though there was nothing she could tear from my chest that wasn't already hers... Even earlier, when she kissed me in that cave for the first time? Or when she saved my life from George Washington?

Somewhere among these moments I got lost forever.

“Can you say it again?” Ziio asked.

I looked her in the eyes. The most beautiful eyes in the entire world, and slowly, to make it clear I mean it, I said:

“I love you. I always loved you.”

A wide smile appeared on Ziio's face and the stuffy cabin brightened. Literally. The faint glow that Ziio eradiated intensified, but unlike before it wasn't this reddish, furious glare. This time it was warm and gentle and brighter than ever.

Ziio raised her hand and, well, had she not been immaterial, I'd say she touched my face, but obviously, I couldn't feel anything beyond a soft, pleasant warmth.

I realized what changed when we were in New York. Since then, since our conversation in the headquarters, I felt younger. Lighter. Stronger. Less numb inside, more... almost hopeful. A few days ago, I would never think it possible to describe myself with such word, yet here we are.

Ziio was about to say something, but a loud knock on the door interrupted her.

I raised my eyebrows.

“Ratonhnhaké:ton” Ziio said.

“You think or you know?” I asked quietly.

She just smiled mysteriously. Any doubts were gone when we heard the voice coming from behind the door:

“Father? Open the door... _please_ ”

I smirked, hearing how hard Connor tried to be polite. This 'please' must have cost him a lot. _Unless he was standing behind that door with his blade ready to slit my throat_ , I thought.

Despite that, I got up to open the door. Then something caused me to turn back to Ziio.

“Could you... could you give us a moment alone, please?” I asked, making sure I keep my voice low.

Ziio nodded slightly and vanished. The room darkened momentarily.

I opened the door, careful to conceal the smile, that's been stuck on my face for a few minutes. I didn't want to scare my son. Connor didn't throw himself at me, so I took that at face value.

“Son” I said

“Father”

I noticed that, once again, Connor was twisting his fingers awkwardly. Funny, I reckoned, how he seems to find it easier to fight people than to talk to them. I wondered if Connor always was this unsure during any nonantagonistic social interaction.

“I...” he cleared his throat “I wanted to talk to you”

“You're doing great so far, then” I replied, but stepped back inside, letting Connor in.

The room appeared even smaller with the well-built Assassin standing in the middle of it, having to bow his head not to hit the low ceiling.

“For God's sake, son, take a sit” I said, seeing that Connor doesn't seem to know what to do with himself.

The Assassin crouched on one of the wooden boxes that took up half of the room.

I sat on my bed, opposite to Connor. Yet again, I had to grit my teeth, as my ribs, once more, let themselves felt.

“So...” I began “How can I help you?”

Connor hesitated, seemingly not knowing how to put into words what was on his mind.

“Why did you leave?” he finally asked.

He surprised me with this question. I presumed that his visit had something to do with our earlier chat. I wouldn't go as far as to say I expected him to reconcile with me, but I did reckoned on it being somehow connected to the issue which was still far from resolved. I didn't expect _this._

My surprise must have shown, because Connor continued:

“Earlier, at the brewery, you said you had to leave. Why?”

“Oh, this” I said unenthusiastically.

There was nothing I wanted more at that moment than to tell Connor to mind his business and refuse to share the story. What I did back then still makes me feel ashamed and I most certainly didn't want to reveal it to my son, who had more than enough reasons to distrust me already. But I understood that we'll never be able to understand each other if I insist on keeping it secret from him.

I also felt that, unfortunately, I owed it to Connor. Not only due to the fact that _he_ previously told me about his most painful memory, but also because, well, some part of Connor is, or was, just a parentless boy wanting to know why he had to grow up without his mother _and_ his father. He deserved to know.

I cleared my throat.

“How much do you know?” I asked.

“Not much” Connor shrugged “I know that you fought together against the British and that you killed the man who haunted our lands and that you left”

 _Have you learned of what happened in between?_ I thought. I hoped not. I hoped Connor didn't know the whole story of our brief romance.

“So?” the boy urged, apparently more eager to hear the complete story than he wanted to show “What happened?”

I gathered my thoughts, figuring out where to start. As usual, the beginning seemed like the best choice.

“It all began soon after I came to Boston for the first time...”

And I told him about our conflict with Edward Braddock and how he betrayed the principles of the Order. About how we searched for the Precursors’' site and needed a way to get in touch with the Natives and show them that we can be trusted. About the day we freed the enslaved Indians held captive in Braddock's camp and my fist encounter with Ziio. At that point, I noticed how covetously Connor listened to every word I said about his mother, so I decided not to spare any detail I remembered. If one had someone as brilliant as Ziio for a mother, he deserved to know everything about her. I felt blissed warmth spread all over my mind as I recalled our meetings and us fighting side by side, united by a common goal.

Finally, I reached the less pleasant part of the story – the one where I learned of Braddock's survival, but chose not to share that information with Ziio, so that she would lead me to the Precursors' site. I forced myself to speak as truthfully as I could, without alleviating it or justifying what I did.

Connor didn't interrupt. I briefly described how Ziio found out about Braddock and how we split.

“And so I left” I finished the story “I came back a few years later... and here we are.”

The Assassin said nothing for a few minutes and I didn't interrupt the silence. I wasn't exactly eager to hear my son's thoughts after what I told him. However unpleasant though it was, revealing the truth to him did bring me some sort of catharsis. It was a story I've never revealed to anybody, not even to those I considered friends and, in a way, I was glad it was Connor with whom I shared the truth. I owed it, not only to him, but to Ziio as well.

“So, you lied to her” Connor spoke at last.

“Yes”

“Yet you expect me to believe you now?”

“Yes”

“Alright”

I wasn't certain if that was supposed to mean 'Alright, I'll trust you, despite all reasons I shouldn't, your story being one of them' or 'Alright, you're clearly insane'

That wasn't, obviously, the end of questions.

“Did you try to find her again?”Connor asked, his eyes fixed on the floor.

“Oh, no” I replied “I made sure to avoid any possible places I could meet her. I was certain she'd keep her word if we ever met and also...”

I paused, but Connor was looking at me agog, as if he was ready to tear the next words from my throat with his bare hands if he had to.

“...and also Ziio caused me to...neglect my duties” I finished reluctantly “I couldn't allow that to happen again”

_Even if I wanted to._

I finally looked at Connor, something I've been avoiding while we were talking. The boy was staring at me, his face full of emotion. When I met his gaze, he looked away.

“So it must have been weird” he said silently “Finding out about me”

“Indeed” I nodded “It was the most... unexpected revelation”

“For both of us” Connor smirked and suddenly I felt this odd connection with the Assassin. Or perhaps was it completely ordinary, between a father and son?

  


_ii_

  


The rest of the day passed without any noteworthy events and further tensions between me and the crew of _Aquila_.

Not long after my chat with Connor, Nathaniel the medic visited me in my cabin to change the dressings. He also reprimanded me for not staying in bed as he'd ordered. I almost like him. Not many people would dare to scold me, but I felt that this man didn't care who or what I was, apart from his patient.

“You're just as bad as the Captain” Nathaniel complained, examining my ribs “He too decided that running about the ship with a sprained ankle is a bloody great idea... Numbskulls”

I hid a smile.

Nathaniel finished his examination, once more ordering me to stay in bed, move as little as possible and generally, stop prohibiting the ribs from healing themselves.

He dropped by again in the evening, presenting me with a pile of books and expressing his hope that maybe they will keep me occupied for a while. Among the titles was Thomas Paine's _Common sense_ , adored by the colonists, as well as _Thoughts on the government_ by John Adams. They will do for a few days.

However absorbing though the lecture was, I wasn't able to focus on it entirely, still thinking back to my conversation with Connor.

It went... unexpectedly well. And I couldn't hush down the quiet voice saying ' _I wish it could be like this all the time_ ' For once I didn't feel like counting out all the reasons why it probably won't last long. For once, I allowed myself to have hope.

I went to bed feeling unusually peaceful and ~~happy~~ content about how the day went.

I knew Ziio was back, even before she spoke.

“You're smiling” she said.

“Am I?” I asked, without opening my eyes.

She muttered affirmatively.

“Well...” I replied “It was a good day, all things considered”

“I'm glad. So what did I miss?”

I opened my eyes.

“We talked about you” I said “A lot”

I turned to the side to face Ziio. She was lying next to me on the narrow bed.

“He missed you, Ziio” I said quietly “I miss you. So much”

She smiled sadly.

“I miss you too” Ziio replied “Both of you”

I felt my throat tighten.

“I wish I could have stayed with you” I uttered “I wish I hadn't...”

“You can't change the past, Haytham” Ziio said quietly and there was a trace of sympathy in her voice “Only the future”

“I know, but... I wish I hadn't lied to you. I wish I told you the truth even if it meant that damn cave was lost for us...” I replied “I never wanted to hurt you, Ziio and I'm sorry. I’m so... so sorry.”

Ziio flickered. Then she moved closer and kissed me, even though I could feel nothing more than soft warmth on my lips and spreading around my body.

Somewhere between then and falling asleep, I heard Ziio say:

“Apology accepted”

The dreams that followed were warm and bright and almost as pleasant as those stolen days of spring, years ago.

 


	16. 20th January 1778

_i_

During the days that followed, I felt as cheerful as I hadn't in ages. For the first time in forever I did not feel so  _old_ . I did not feel so tired. I find myself almost as strong as I was twenty years ago, when I first arrived in the New World, looking forward to the new beginning. I could find no way to pull myself back to the ground where I should be, despite constantly reminding myself of our current concerns that should worry me far more than they do.

First of all, we were on Benjamin's track. In spite of not seeing any sign of his ship on the horizon, we know where he is headed, while  _he_ has every right to believe that we are either dead or still unaware of his whereabouts, but certainly not going after him  _together_ . It is only a matter of time that we confront that bastard and very few things make one as happy as this sense of aim and purpose that the prospect of an easily reachable goal in the nearest future brings.

Secondly, the armistice between me and Connor.

Ziio accepted my apology. That makes three.

Despite seeing the future in bright colours, I felt I could use some of my usual sobriety of mind and a healthy amount of pessimism. They may prove to be much needed soon, as Benjamin wasn't a foe that can be easily outsmarted.

For the time being, I decided to actually follow Nathaniel's orders for once and stay in my cabin, especially after the physician visited me the first day after my meeting with Connor and remarked that I was looking “better” and “cheerful”. I'd rather not my son saw me in such state. He has enough reasons to think me insane already.

I occupied myself with re-reading “ _Common Sense”_ . I must say that the admiration the work of Thomas Paine has earned in the colonies is more justified than one might think knowing how eager the colonists are to adore pointless notions. Whereas some may view the text as merely a sensible, for once, justification and approval of the revolution and reasoning with its opponents, I value it for its thorough study of humanity and society.

Paine writes that some people seem to confuse society and its government, despite them being two completely different things. He claims that “society is produced by our wants, and government by our wickedness”. Here lies the problem with the Assassins, if not in general, then in this particular case – the revolutionary war. They seem to be blind to the fact that the liberty of the country has nothing to do with the liberty of its people. And most certainly, it has nothing to do with the liberty of Connor's people.

The Assassins view freedom as the highest prize and value, while not seeing (not willing to see?) what are the consequences of said freedom. Their vision of society could only work in a utopian world where everyone is free of human flaws and giving them freedom would bear no risk of them abusing it. America is the prime example of why it cannot be so. One can clearly see three prime groups of people of which the population of this continent consists – the colonists, the indigenous peoples and the slaves – the first one abusing the rest. Demanding freedom but simultaneously denying it to the others.

Humanity is ruled by greed and fear. Between the fight for the riches and the struggle to survive little time is left for considering using human power for some higher purposes. Not that the majority of men bothers itself with such things as the higher purpose. Full stomach and full purse – that's all they trouble themselves with. And the higher the stakes – the less human the humanity is. I suppose what I'm trying to say is: not everyone deserves freedom. But what if instead of giving them freedom, one would give them a purpose? I am not thinking of any concrete aim right now, merely something to direct their strength and minds into, something that would benefit all, not just few.

Look at them now: mindlessly killing those whom were once their brothers, those who fought for them against the French twenty years ago, just so that they can pay taxes to  _their own_ ruler, whoever he may turn out to be when all is said and all is done. Is that how this freedom of their dreams is to look like?

Paine, on the other hand, in addition to the silly babble about liberty and justice, also gives a more reasonable explanation for the need of the colonies’ separation from the British Empire and one I could get behind, had it not caused all the mess we have to deal with right now. Namely: the King's and his government's inability to effectively rule their country from the other side of the ocean.

What I also admire about Paine's reasoning is his criticism of the idea of monarchy in general. For centuries people either loved or hated their kings, never considering how preposterous the very idea of having a king is in the first place. Having one man neither chosen for ruling, nor particularly predisposed for running the country in most cases appears more and more senseless the longer one thinks about it.

Although it's not without its perks. Sometimes when the power is in the hands of one man, one who can control  _the king's_ actions, controls the whole country. Unless, of course, said king swears war on you...

It's unnerving that, ever since the Order has been “destroyed” in fourteenth century, it's never regained its full power and influence and was forced to go underground, to hide, marked like some pitiful sect, unable to return to its former glory.

Things will never go back to the way they were before. I, most certainly, won't live to see it. But maybe they can be even better? We improve, we overcome and adapt. What if our next adaptation is the truce with the Assassins? New World, new Order. New hope.

  
  


_ii_

  
  


I was almost glad when the inevitable altercation with Mr. Faulkner finally took place, sobering me up, bringing me back to the ground.

In the evening, I sneaked out from below deck once more. Yet again, I headed to the bow of the ship and this time, I was there alone. Not for long though.

Even before I finally began to enjoy the cool breeze and the fresh air, I heard heavy footsteps behind me. I knew it wasn't Connor (he wouldn’t miss a chance to approach me soundlessly) so I quickly turned around, readying my blade, not bothering myself with how uninviting it may look.

Faulkner froze. His hand flinched, betraying the instinct to reach for his gun. I smiled politely, hiding my blade.

“Good evening, Mr. Faulkner” I said, as if nothing unusual happened.

“Depends to whom, Mr. Kenway” he grunted “Or is it _Master_ Kenway?”

“It's _Grandmaster_ Kenway, actually” I replied in the most polite tone possible.

“You can even go by her majesty Queen Elizabeth by me” Faulkner snapped, his supply of patience apparently running thin “What business have you on my ship?”

I smirked. The man wasn't created for verbal scuffles I enjoyed. The moment I saw him, I knew he was an honest, forthright man, averse towards me and not hesitating to let me know about it. In fact, I am surprised he managed to put up with my presence on his ship for more than a week.

“I should think the Captain has already acquainted you with our aim” I said.

“Oh, he acquainted me alright” Faulkner replied “But that doesn't explain why he agreed to tolerate you on our ship, _Templar,_ instead of throwing you into the sea when he got the chance”

“Well, apparently he decided to honour our truce” I said “He's an honourable man, is he not?”

“A bit too honourable for my taste” Faulkner said dryly “I repeat my question: what business have you on my ship?”

“Mr. Faulkner, if my goal was to slay the whole crew and take over your dear vessel, do you really believe I'd share that with you?”

I turned away from the sailor and looked at the sea.

“I don't know what you've heard about me, Mr. Faulkner” I said “But if according to those stories, I am able to take over a whole ship all by myself then they're greatly exaggerated”

“Look, sir” Faulkner snarled “All I know is that I don't trust you. The captain may have believed whatever story you told him, but I won't. It's my duty to protect him and the ship. I will be watching you”

“Consider me warned” I said, shrugging.

The quartermaster glared at me one last time and walked away.

I can't blame him for his mistrust. On the contrary, I appreciate his honesty and directness. Additionally, it was obvious he felt responsible for Connor. He's probably known him far longer than I have, maybe even since my son was a child. No wonder he gets overprotective, even  _fatherly_ about him.

I winced. I caught myself doing that whenever my thoughts wandered to the subject of fatherhood.

The coldness of the night air that was refreshing to me a few minutes ago, now became piercing and unpleasant, therefore I headed back below deck. Having walked down the ladder, I passed Nathaniel, the medic. He glared at me and said:

“I hoped the books would be enough to keep you in, Mr. Kenway”

“They were, Mr. Alexander” I replied, pretending not to notice his disapproving tone “Excellent choice, by the way”

“Not mine” Nathaniel shrugged, climbing up to the deck “Captain asked me to give you those”

In my surprise, I forgot to respond. I stood motionless for a few seconds.

“Maybe you should thank him?” Ziio asked.

I already managed to get used to her company, visible or not, so her speaking up no longer caused me to flinch.

“Nathaniel?” I asked.

“Ratonhnhaké:ton”

“Um... after my chat with our friend, Mr. Faulkner, I don't think interrupting the captain is a very fortunate idea”

Ziio looked at me with indulgence.

“A poor excuse”

“He's probably very busy”

“Haytham Kenway, you go talk to our son right now, or I'll find a way to pull your obstinate butt there myself”

“Was that supposed to be a threat?”

Ziio rolled her eyes, but the smirk she couldn't conceal ruined the effect. Not being the most humorous of people, I always felt glad when I managed to amuse her. And now that we cleared the air, Ziio's been mercifully  _allowing_ me to amuse her.

That didn't change the fact that I wasn't sure whether talking to Connor was a good idea. Even if I could have assumed so earlier, my talk with Faulkner reminded me who I am to the boy. This moment of understanding we had a couple of days ago made me forget it. And, although Connor seemed almost friendly at the time, if I managed to get over it by now, then presumably so did he.

I heard the patter of feet above my head – a sign that soon I was going to face a bunch of sailors, who just finished their shift on deck. I quickly retreated to my cabin.

“You're going to lurk in here forever?” Ziio asked.

“Yes” I grunted.

“That's the opportunity you _wanted_. That's the opportunity I gave you. What are you waiting for? What do you _stall_ for?” she asked “What are you afraid of, Haytham?”

“I'm afraid of nothing”

“Then why don't you go to him?

“He... well, he doesn't...”

“He doesn't _what_?”

“I'm certain he doesn't want my company”

“He _seeked_ it himself mere few days ago” Ziio bridled “What makes you think that?”

“I know he hates me” I said impassively “I see it every time he looks at me. Why shouldn't he anyway?”

“ _Hates_ you?” Ziio blinked “Why would you say that, silly?”

“He has many reasons to choose from”

“Haytham...”

“You should have seen his face when he accused me of your death”

“ _You_ should have seen his face when you said you'd never do it”

I blinked in surprise. Up until now, I've assumed that Connor didn't care much for what I said in my defence. Why would he? I thought he was going to forgo the subject for now to avoid another fight.

“Don't you see, Haytham?” Ziio said mildly “He _wants_ to believe you. I can't say he likes you already, but he most certainly doesn't hate you”

“How?” I muttered “Why?”

“He has a kind heart”

“One more reason for him to loathe me. He thinks me a monster”

“Then stop giving him reasons to think so” Ziio said “And talk to him”

I sighed.

Reluctantly, I left my room and creeped to Connor's cabin, pretending not to be creeping at all.

Since we met less than two weeks ago, every day I've been learning new things about my son. Whether I liked it or not, they connected together, slowly completing the puzzle that the boy was. And, I admit it, I was curious to see what piece I may discover next.

It worked obviously, both ways. Connor was getting to know me as well and probably better than most people I've met through the ages. He most certainly didn't like what he saw, but, well, he wanted to get to know his father, and know him he shall. Not the first person in the world you'd want to have as a father, am I, Connor? That's fine. Let him see me as a heartless bastard, a monster even, but at least let the charges be truthful. I ask no more.

Such thoughts made me hesitate once more, before knocking on the door of Captain's cabin. However, while I stood there on the verge of retreating, the door opened and I found myself face to face with Connor, who froze in surprise, seeing me on his doorstep.

I bowed my head.

“Good evening, Connor” I said.

“Good evening, fa-...” Connor cleared his throat “Good evening. What are you doing here?”

“I won't take much of your time” I replied dryly “Your physician, Mr. Alexander told me you had him bring me your books. I merely wanted to thank you for the effort”

The Assassin blinked.

“Oh” he muttered awkwardly “That's fine... I mean, I couldn't get around to read them, I thought maybe you'd put them to some better use”

“You haven't read them?” I asked “You _haven't_ read those books? No wonder you know nothing if you don't read”

“I do” Connor growled “You came here to insult me?”

“No, I came here to save you, apparently” I said “I'll be right back”

I quickly walked back to my cabin to fetch _“Common sense”_ and in a matter of minutes I was back at Connor's door.

“Here” I handed him the book “I know you don't want to listen to me, fine. But read this. It shall provide you with a bit different take on the war than the one you've been given so far”

“Meaning?” Connor frowned, but took the book.

“Meaning, it can give you something above the jibber-jabber about liberty and the pursuit of happiness. And” I raised my finger “It was written by an Englishman”

Connor glanced at Paine's name on the cover suspiciously.

“One of your men?” he asked.

“For God's sake, son, not every educated, intelligent person is a Templar”

The Assassin was about to deliver a retort, but I forestalled him:

“I'm being serious, Connor. If you don't want to fall victim to those you're currently helping, you need to seek the truth. Some of your _friends_ are using you. Others may have honest intentions, but they're just people. Sometimes blind, sometimes stupid. You need to find your own place in _all this_ ”

“Did _you_?”

Connor surprised me with that question.

I thought for a second. Did I?

I spend most of my life seeking the truth, trying to learn what were the forces that had their impact on my life since I was a child and changed it forever or why Father had to die or who my son really is. And I surely did find my place, determined neither by my legacy or my upbringing. I chose to be where I am.

“Yes” I replied “I advise you to do the same for your own good. You need to know who your real enemy is. If you knew, for example that in 1763 King George prohibited further expansion into the Natives' land, maybe you wouldn't be so eager to slaughter his army”

Having decided that my work here for tonight is done, I bid Connor goodnight and left him alone with the book and a thoughtful expression.

“Was it that difficult?” Ziio asked as I went below deck.

I didn't reply. I don't like to admit to her that she was right, as usual.

  
  


 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am, believe it or not, still alive.

**Author's Note:**

> Thoughts? Concerns? Inspirational quotes? Please comment!  
> Inspirational quotes are particularily welcome.
> 
> visit my tumblr for shitty art and stuff: http://darkandstormyranger.tumblr.com/


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